


I Am Not Resigned

by SippingPlotting



Series: Sequels [5]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: University Students, character death (if I don't chicken out), what happens at Downton doesn't always stay at Downton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 66,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingPlotting/pseuds/SippingPlotting
Summary: Lady Mary raised them side by side in the nursery.  Lord Grantham told off the judgmental peers.  Surely the unorthodox and liberal behavior of the Crawleys must have some repercussions outside the walls of Downton.(Overlaps the epilogue of 'Holiday Lights' as far as timeline, but is a separate story.)Is this DA or young adult fiction?  An AU since most of it's at university?  I'm not sure how the tags should go.Maybe the 'dark sister' to Holiday Lights?





	1. Chapter 1

-  
-  
-

It had been such a lovely, loving holiday, Edward mourned, coming back to reality with a thud. But now they were back from Christmas at Downton and facing the coldness, not just of winter, but also of the students gathered around.

There were stares and whispers.  
Far more sneering stares and whispers than he'd expected; certainly far more than they usually got.  
"I still think if I'd've had another week, she'd've kissed me," Clarey Bates groused from close by his left side, voice smooth and sweet as honey.  
Clarey'd become inured to the staring, of course: used to it since most of the past disrespect of their fellow students had been thrown at him. Thus, he paid little heed and remained focused on his latest efforts of conquest.  
"I could feel her leaning toward me just before her granny came up and gave me a New Year's peck instead. But she'd've kissed me. I know it."

 

Edward Talbot wasn't quite so oblivious, however, noting the hardened eyes and increased buzz of gossip. Still, dutiful as always, he kept up his end of the conversation with his friend, giving a short laugh that sounded false even to his own ears.  
"YOU'd've kissed HER," he corrected, soldiering to keep both his nerves and his jealousies in check.  
"Then, when you'd done, she'd've felt she had to slap you. Or, worse, tell her father, and then there'd have been fun." His voice was light, even though the pulse pounded in his head.  
Once again Talbot scanned the quad, seeing two boys pointedly turning away so they wouldn't cross paths. He'd been afraid that what had happened over holiday would cause a problem.  
What was lightly forgotten at Downton wasn't forgotten here.

 

Yet Clarey focused on the Girl, not the rumpus.  
"She did seem to like me well enough to kiss," the taller boy objected. "Even if she liked you more." He pulled a face. "Annoying as that always is."  
It had happened before, heaven knew--where girls came up to talk to Clarey using it as an entree to talk to Edward, getting his friend's hopes up. (He was, after all, far the easier target with whom to talk.)

"No, by the end of it, she preferred you to me. Definitely. That smile of yours makes women go mad," Edward teased, keeping his voice perfectly normal and not looking Clarey in the eye as he did it, so he didn't blush.  
(And still scanning around them, noting who was whispering and turning away.)

"We do what we can," Clarey joked back, keeping his tone mild, knowing very well what Edward was thinking and trying to reel his friend back from anxiety to stand safely by his side.  
For Clarey knew everything about Edward, more perhaps than he ought. For instance, he knew Edward didn't like girls, though he didn't understand it. Felt a bit awkward when it seemed his friend actually liked Him.  
But they were too good of friends, too close really, to make a break of it over one difference. (One? The boys had so many differences much more drastic than that. Though, of course, they weren't illegal....but when had Clarey ever cared about foolish rules?) 

 

From across the quadrangle, two young gentlemen approached, seemingly intent on passing by with no harm. Clarey blew a soft burst of air through his lips.  
"Edward," Robert Pelham nodded curtly to his cousin.  
"Robbie," Edward Talbot nodded back, using the childhood diminutive as a subtle poke at his pride.  
Leaving Clarey standing there without a greeting was frustrating but typical.

 

Today, though, Edward was surprised Robbie bothered with even him.  
This year the family, including the Pelhams, had gathered for George Crawley's announcement of engagement, but there'd been a bit of a blow up between old Lord Grantham and one of his honored guests.  
Edward knew how his sycophant cousin viewed any mistreatment of 'honored guests.'

Robbie and his friend swept by after the brief exchange,  
Pelham adding a sniff before whispering something, then giving a braying laugh.  
Yet the chilly little greeting left Edward relieved; it could be worse. Much worse.  
If it was only whispers and standoffish-ness, they'd be fine.

 

"Every action has a reaction," Edward murmured.  
"Surely he wouldn't take their side against the rest of your family," Clarey returned, keying in to the problem. "Tosser."  
The young man Robbie was with, David Winthrop, was heir to a duke as well as incredibly handsome. Edward knew Robbie might well be persuaded by such charisma and rank.  
"He acts as though this is the court of Henry VIII, not college," Clarey grumbled. "A lot of them do."

 

Edward huffed quietly at his friend's attempted humor. It hadn't been easy before this to live in a place where rank and privilege ruled. And in the south, too, where northerners were pilloried.  
Now they were facing something even more difficult.  
Still...facing it together, the two of them.

Clarey, rangey and blonde and exhuberant; reckless at times at his own expense. Cheeky.  
Edward, a bit shorter; dark hair and green eyes like his father, mind even sharper than his mother's; introverted, not because he didn't like people, but because he could be a bit too empathetic sometimes. An overthinker.  
These two opposites, raised together from nursery on, were best mates.  
Together they'd survive whatever the storm.

\---

Meanwhile in another part of the university entirely, his sister was going to a tutorial.  
And the princesses themselves couldn't have walked more regally down the hallway than Violet Elizabeth Talbot could.

She was attending college to acquire knowledge, after all, not socialize with some of the silly chits around her. Even here among the blue stockings, Violet found the girls far too apt to be distracted by the vagaries of life.  
Not that Violet didn't enjoy vagaries (they might even be a more primary incentive to be here than mere knowledge, if pride allowed her to admit it)....she just knew to enjoy them thoroughly in her more private moments, then get on with the more mundane, necessary parts of Life.

 

"Did your family enjoy Christmas?"  
A cheerful, out of breath voice came low and beside her--Eugenia, known as Gennie to her friends. And some how, in spite of herself, Violet Talbot was one of her friends.  
"Of course," Violet answered, adjusting the books in her arms and pausing.  
Then as the other girl waited her out, "There was a bit of a disagreement about one of my cousins, but my grandfather took care of it." She smirked. "As I'm sure you've already heard."

 

Gennie cackled gleefully. "Heard he lectured old Lord Haverby. Josie is in a snit."  
"Josephine is frequently in a snit," Violet drawled. Josie Haverby was one of the students in the same college, but was in no way someone to whom Violet would give the time of day.  
"My family has a bit of a history of not keeping social boundaries intact," she admitted, though, just to be fair.

That much was true, what with her uncle Tom having been the chauffeur. And it seemed that everyone who was anyone had that bit of personal information at hand.  
(Meanwhile Violet herself was preparing to do almost the same thing. However, not for an acquaintance such as Eugenia Haviland would she ever admit it. Let the secret remain until she and Johnny were fully prepared to venture forth.)

 

"Yes, you being friends with those two Bates boys. I know," Gennie blathered, pulling the names out of the air as though out of Violet's own thoughts.  
"But to actually MARRY someone like that? Your aunt must have really loved your uncle to cast everything aside. Your cousin, too, though she's not really a lady, so the fall's less."  
Seeing Violet bristling, Gennie hastened to add. "Of course, your grandfather would be perfectly right to have family in his home, even extended family. It's just....well, they'd never be invited to the Haverbys, so that's why Josie's in such a snit they had to eat with them at all.  
"Personally, I think it sounds wonderfully independent and modern. It's just not how things are usually 'done.'"

 

Violet Talbot knew how things were done. She'd been raised knowing how things were 'done.'  
And having grown up watching guests' reactions to her uncle, Tom Branson,  
having watched and considered and weighed as Sybbie made her unexpected match,  
she knew what 'mismatched' lovers faced. Especially in a situation such as college--where status in the 'pack' made things rather 'kill or be killed.'

Once across the Rubicon, there was a reaction. A very strong and continuing reaction, the tiny ripples of which played out unexpectedly and persistently as the days and decades went on. (Only within Downton walls would one be completely safe from it--hence her discretion & delay.)  
Gennie was merely repeating what she herself had said a hundred times in the past, so Violet didn't hold it against her friend.

She merely continued walking confidently on.

\---

The boys, meanwhile, were entering assembly.  
Robert was older than his cousin yet behind a class, having delayed college to do National Service first. He felt that doing so was only what was honorable and right.  
For 'honor' and 'right' and, yes, 'social rank' were all important to Robbie Pelham.  
The pendulum swings, so it must swing back, the young man reasoned.  
During the war, things had to give way somewhat to license. Now it must be sorted into the proper hierarchy, and one must again follow the rules of the game.  
That was one of the reasons he'd spoken to Edward--his internal sense of rules & manners demanded it.

 

Like the stories his grandmother had read them as children, during their hour with her.  
Grandmother Pelham was a stalwart, better even at holding the ramparts of civility and propriety than his father and mother.  
Shame Marigold seemed to go the way of the moderns, marrying some American--wealthy at least, educated--but still.  
Robbie blamed the war.

 

"That cousin of yours, Edward wasn't it?" David asked as they ducked in the doors.  
Robbie nodded, not bothering to mask his puzzled expression.  
"Quite good at his books. Perhaps we can rope him and get him to help the two of us along."  
"I suppose," Pelham said, voice carefully polite but thin. David was his chum, HIS ally.  
Besides the Winthrops were friends with the Haverbys, the same people with whom his grandfather Crawley had the row. 

Surely David would know Edward wouldn't split with the family.  
(Although perhaps he'd do a favor. Always a little too helpful, Edward was. A bit too kind.)

 

"I can always ask," Robbie promised, sure both that he could leverage his cousin's good nature....and that Edward would never make the grade with the heir of a duke.  
David smiled. "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

-  
-  
-  
The frost on the window made a pattern like fine French lace, the kind his granny favored, and tracing it lightly with his thumbnail Edward wistfully thought of home.  
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he whispered, stating the obvious for a third time. Across the table, Clarey closed his book tutting slightly, but gave him an understanding look.  
They were huddled in seats by a corner window, ostensibly studying, but for Talbot mainly marking time. It had taken two weeks of casual build up by his cousin, but Robbie'd finally done as his master bid and told him David Winthrop needed him to stop by.  
"Not a good idea at all."

 

"I'm not sure it is, either, but it won't be any harm. Go charm this duke character, then come back and we'll work on that paper for Old Salsbury," Clarey encouraged, then gave a conspirator's grin. "While you're away, I'll take another spin at cracking the broody Russian."

His blue eyes twinkled as he discreetly tilted his head across the room where Michael Kuragin sat hunched over a pile of books. (Mikhail, the boy corrected himself mentally--though the professors wouldn't acknowledge that someone born in England would ever cling to a Russian-sounding name.)  
"Some day, I'll get him to laugh."  
Clarey was trying to get Edward to laugh, too, trusting him to take care of his errand and get safely back as must be done.

 

And it worked in part, Talbot grinning fleetingly. "Doubtful. Though I did catch sight of him smiling once when he thought no one was near."  
Clarey and his missions. Honestly. (And still, the familiarity gave him some strength.)

"Reminds me of my da," Clarey said, making Edward half choke.  
Kuragin looked nothing like Mr. Bates, other than pale skin. (Pale skin, black hair, ice blue eyes.)  
"No, really," the boy continued in that soft, soothing voice. "Not the hair and eyes, not the look of him, but the broodiness. The shadows. There's a secret hidden there."  
And at that observation, Edward replaced amusement with something more admiring. Clarey always did understand other people, even if he approached their emotional state like a gambolling puppy.  
(Sometimes, though, stunningly bright.)

 

"Well, good luck on that if you do," Edward whispered, wincing slightly as he rose and the chair squawked a complaint, the monitor shooting a glare.  
"I'll probably be back fairly quickly. I'm not sure what problem David Winthrop is having with his assignment, but I don't see us chumming around after I get him sorted. Robbie's his type, not me."

Edward gathered his books together, his hand sweating slightly, pulse stuttering.  
Winthrop was alarmingly good looking, after all. And while Edward preferred Clarey, that wasn't ever going to be a match.  
What if....what if Winthrop DID think him his 'type' after all?

\---

Of course, Young Love was much simpler if one was heterosexual--the post war era bringing another surge of hatred and paranoia if one was not.  
Still, even being the so-called 'typical' genders didn't insure a couple smooth sailing.  
Put a group of Englishmen in a room and soon they'd find a way to sort themselves and determine Rank.  
Fortunately, this past holiday Violet had determined to let go her concerns for all of that.

 

"This is not exactly your usual discreet self," Johnny Bates chided, though his smile said he was enjoying the change mightily.  
"I don't see how having luncheon with a friend is such an indiscretion," Violet replied blandly, though her eyes snapped. She leaned a bit forward and added quietly. "I miss you, you know. Most of these people have absolutely no SENSE."

They were in a local tea room, sitting completely across the table from one another not touching at all. Yet it felt as though they were in each other's arms.  
Violet shivered slightly.  
Odd how one's brain gives over so completely to romance once the door is opened.  
Violet didn't want to admit it, but she positively yearned.

 

"That's my best trait. I am well known for absolutely good sense," Johnny deadpanned, looking at her from beneath lowered lashes, trying to rein in his dimples.  
He paused. "With the one notable exception, of course."

She looked down at the small cardboard menu and pursed her lips, struggling not to smile back, feeling color rise to her cheeks. "There must always be the one exception to prove the rule."

And looking up, turning an impassive face toward where the staff waited, she quirked an eyebrow. Just that, and they came as though at a loud command.  
"We must get ourselves in and out rather quickly," she drawled blandly to the woman. "My friend here has work to deal with this afternoon."

\---

Violet's brother, however, wasn't behaving so smoothly cool. 

On the other side of town, Edward scuffed his shoes nervously as he waited for his knock to be answered.  
The young man hated the spotlight. He'd never tried to push his points in class or brag about his scores. Yet the others had noticed something slightly different about him straight away.  
The ease of finishing the reading, the nods as he caught the lecture's ideas, the slight blush of pleasure as the work was passed back, occasionally with a murmur of 'well done.'

Edward might not have drawn attention to his abilities, but the others knew he was intelligent.  
And most of them could care less--intelligence wasn't as prized as skill at cricket (which Edward had) or a way with the ladies (which Edward did not.)

 

Still, from time to time he'd been asked by one unfortunate or another to help unravel some knotty assignment. They DID all have to pass, after all, no matter what their titles read.  
"It's just another small favor, then they'll show me the door," he murmured to quiet himself, whilst forcing his feet to stay still and his hands to uncurl.

"Talbot," David Winthrop exclaimed as he entered. The tone was intoxicatingly warm.  
"Thank you so much for riding to the rescue. I hate to admit it, but I'm lost and even Pelham couldn't help."  
Wide dark eyes, slightly curly dark hair, a devil's smile. Oh, my, Edward thought. This could be a more difficult assignment than I thought.

\---

Clarey meanwhile was rapidly covering page after page with writing, thumbing through books with a muttered curse between every few paragraphs.  
He'd come over to Kuragin's table and plumped himself down on the excuse of needing to share one of the books. The ordinary thing, of course, would have been to ask to borrow its use for a few moments then return it with thanks.  
Clarey, though.  
Clarey just brought his things and moved in.

 

Mikhail Kuragen snorted slightly, pointed a glower at the blonde which normally put the rest of them off, then shrugged.  
Whatever game was afoot, it wouldn't be harmful. He'd never seen either this one or his friend Talbot do a single vicious thing...and Misha was one who watched.  
To the English, Kuragen wasn't much of anybody; the Russian aristocracy was extinct and the Soviets were now enemies.  
To Mikhail's family, however, they had a long lineage, titles, and pride. No money, but so much pride. 

 

Perhaps he should care, therefore, that someone inferior like Clarence Bates had presumed to share his table without invitation.  
Kuragin, however, didn't care-- long ago recognizing something in both Bates and Talbot that was integral to himself. They, too, were outsiders.  
And they, too, followed some sort of strict inner code of morals and pride that let them slough off being treated as 'less than' when they were both--when judged by his observations thus far--'more.'

 

Clarey muttered again, breaking into the Russian's thoughts.  
He clamped his teeth violently down on his pen and narrowed his eyes.  
"You know, if you bite so hard that your mouth fills with ink, I shall laugh," Kuragin said, drily. He smirked as Clarey's head jerked up, startled, staring first at him, then at the pen, and back.  
As though considering....  
"Really?" the blonde asked looking at him, weighing it.

"No," Kuragin said hastily. He'd been born and raised in England, but surrounded for most of his life by Russians. Sometimes English humor still alluded him.  
Would the boy really make himself into a clown?  
"No, and you would get us thrown out," he said calmly, but the corners of his mouth did twitch a bit in reflex to Clarey's smile.  
"Really, Bates," he admonished.

 

"Call me Clarey. I don't like this last name business. It sounds so cold."  
The black haired boy nodded. It was a small offer of closeness he was prepared to accept.  
"I prefer Misha, if it's to be that," he said rather gruffly, but the hint of smile remained. "Mikhail is my given name, but my family has three of those, so I get called Misha by them all."

"Better, that. Sounds less ordinary," Clarey nodded, then leaned a bit forward to whisper. "Ordinary's rather boring sometimes, don't you think?"  
But then he sat back, nodded, and went back to his work--looking up occasionally with a bit of a cheeky grin.  
Best not scare him off, Clarey thought, pleased. You can't change everything in one go.

And the two young men sat easily enough together as the companionable silence soothed their minds.

\---

Edward Talbot, however, wasn't having such a comfortable time of it.  
While Winthrop had made an obvious effort to make him feel at ease, Edward still managed to trip himself up.  
"I see what you did here. Let me show you," Edward said, taking another sheet of paper and making notes on it, quickly and succinctly, for the other to use.  
He'd chuckled just slightly as he did it, enjoying having found the crux of the problem, but looking up he realized he'd offended the other boy, that the other's smile was now forced and his eyes flat.

 

"It's a simple mistake," he said, compounding it, using the word 'simple' as though Winthrop was a 'simpleton.'  
(Common? he thought...no, that would be worse.)  
"Simple to fix, rather," he said, earnestly trying. Edward knew he hated to not know how to do something, and assumed it was frustrating to someone like Winthrop, too.  
"That's fine," David said, replacing his smile and sounding warm again--though with hidden effort. "I think I'm finally figuring things out."

\---

Violet was also figuring out a plan.  
"I'm thinking when I ever finally graduate, I should work at Aunt Edith's publisher for a bit. The family understands even a girl wanting to work a bit outside the home, before marriage."  
Violet wasn't looking up, was digging through her handbag, which--in spite of her precisely organized mind was in a disorderly state. (No ladylike reticule for Violet. Sometimes Johnny wondered if she'd pull out a torch or a scouting hatchet, just on the basis of being 'prepared.')

"And that will let you stay south until I graduate," he replied, knowing how her thoughts worked. They'd dallied over the sandwiches far longer than they ought, but he couldn't seem to break away from her side.  
What a wonderful thing it was to contemplate Violet Talbot, Johnny thought....not soppily, just as a matter of truest fact.

"Um, yes, though I won't get in your way any more than now. One must put graduation first," she said, emerging triumphantly from the bag with a small item in her hand.  
"Here."

 

She held it out in her palm.  
He looked at her, startled. "Letty?"  
"Here," she repeated, leaning her open hand closer, precariously holding the object over the tea cups. "The one is the key to the car mama got me. I don't fancy driving about anyway, and it will make it quicker for you to get to your clerking and back. "  
She smirked slightly. "And the other's the key to my rooms, though I'd suggest you not just move in. People might talk."

She wobbled her open palm, encouraging him to take the ring.

 

He started to laugh, but held it in, knowing it was a serious moment for her.  
"They would indeed," he said, taking the keys and pocketing them, furtively looking about.  
"I'm not sure that was a good idea," he said, then covering his mouth with his hand--which only forced the laughter out as a few tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Of course it is," she said, leaning back. "Convenience is logical. We just can't have conveniences cost us discretion, but I totally trust you with that."  
Handbag (slightly) sorted, she snapped it shut. 

Her eyes were positively twinkling, though all anyone sitting nearby would have seen was a rather frosty young woman, sitting with primly straight posture, finishing a polite conversation with an equally business like young man.

\---

"So your great grandfather knew Edward's great grandmother?" Clarey got out, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of glee and horror.  
"Lovers," Misha said back, his face blank, though his eyes showed he was enjoying the other boy's shock.  
(Leaving out that when the women in the family muttered the story, they always referred to the Englishwoman only with the vilest term.)

"Golly. Nice to the old folks had their day," Clarey added, caught off guard. He usually only talked about women with Edward, but this was one for the books.  
"Well, then you'll have to be one of our friends, then. It's like the stars aligning," he said after a moment. "Will you sit with us in the dining hall?"

 

Looking around for the first time, Clarey realized Edward was running a bit late, which was unusual for the other boy, but...  
"Yes," Kuragin answered. "I believe I'd enjoy that for tonight."  
And yet, though his eyes were much warmer, Clarey still hadn't seen him fully smile.  
The friendship was, of course, still young.

\---

"You should sit with us, Talbot. We have a good group of fellows gathered around."  
David's tone was chummy, and he even put out a hand to grip his arm, making Edward stutter slightly. 

"I'm sorry, but I can't," he said, honestly. (For why shouldn't he be honest, Edward naively thought.)  
And what he thought was disappointment showed in the briefest flash of the other boy's eyes.  
"Very well. Perhaps another night."  
And with murmurs of good will and thanks, he let Talbot go

out under darkening skies.


	3. Chapter 3

-  
-  
-  
Clarey was always a bit awkward around the servant who came to straighten the rooms each morning.  
Even now, it didn't seem quite right for HIM to be waited on in this manner--the man working whilst he just 'sat.'  
And so the boy literally cleaned up each morning before the older man came to clean up, then tried not to be obvious about his disappointment when he still found something to do.

True, Clarey and Edward tended toward tidiness anyway, other than their excess stack of books. But even in the tidiest place, dust happened.  
And so, even though wake up was at half seven, Scout would come in a bit after six to find Clarey already up and rambling.  
Then they'd dance about one another while the older gent used the carpet sweeper to clean the sitting room rug.

 

"You two certainly aren't like the rest," the fellow commented that morning when the grumble of the apparatus was finally shut off.  
The silence was deafening for a moment.  
"What?" Clarey said, startled.  
"Not like the rest, you are. All your sporting things tucked away. All your china rinsed and unchipped."

But he meant it kindly enough, Clarey could tell.  
In fact, bouncing on his feet a bit, Scout stood smiling as though privately enjoying his own attempt at a compliment.  
"We keep things away from the notes and books," the boy said, returning the smile, waving around him. (Suddenly realizing the books should be shelved, too, but there were too many, in too frequent use, for there to ever be time.)

 

"Sorry you have to run your machine around the corner with those."  
To which the older man merely snorted, using his heel to straighten the fringe on the thickly napped carpet he'd just finished. "Pleasure to see a scholar's room that actually has a mess of books. You'd be surprised what messes those other types have."  
So though Clarey still felt awkward about the whole set up, would never NOT feel awkward, at least he felt the situation was the best that could be balanced out.

And for his part, the fellow puffed out his chest, dual mission accomplished. (He'd heard some of the other little bell ends' remarks about these boys, and wanted to do his small bit to make things right.)

\---

Around this point, Edward wandered out, breaking into the moment to let the man in for the beds.  
As usual, he was wearing a slightly tatty red wool robe over his pajamas. (It was moth-eaten and slightly too large for him--an ancient left-behind artifact his father'd had.)  
A fringe of hair in his eyes, unshaven...mussed up, but not unkempt.

Scout grinned at Talbot's polite but sleepy good morning, and passed him by to tend to the linens, knowing the back room would be tidy, too. (Such good boys, the old man thought again.)

 

Finding himself in the sitting room, Edward rasped out a greeting to Clarey, who found his friend's lack of morning cheer excessive even for him.  
"You look like something the cat dragged in," Clarey commented, handing the other boy a cup and going to throw a chunk of coal on the fire.  
The sitting room had beautiful, large windows (rather drafty) and high ceilings (which stole the heat.) Ah, the good life, Clarey thought, pulling his jumper 'round tight.  
"I feel like the cat chewed on me, too," Edward said back after a few sips, cradling the cup to warm his hands.  
"Couldn't sleep."

 

This last admission came sheepishly, and the taller boy weighed the tone carefully before asking.  
"Problem?"  
Edward wouldn't ever refuse to answer him, and he hoped he wasn't pushing in somewhere he didn't belong. (However, Clarey reassured himself, with a best mate was there actually anywhere he didn't belong?)  
"Just odd. I didn't want to say it in front of the others, especially our new recruit, but Winthrop was after me to sit with his table at dinner. Which is not only odd timing, given the way things are buzzing, but just odd on the face of it after all these months."

 

Clarey brought his own cup over as Scout clattered his genial way out.  
The interruption giving him an extra moment to think.  
They weren't friendless, after all. The two of them didn't sit in seclusion all hours of the day.  
Yet, so far any new 'friends' had joined into what Edward and Clarey had already established between the two of them as priorities.  
And he was suspicious that the glittering David Winthrop wasn't in sync with almost any of those.  
Not at all.

 

"It IS odd," he replied finally. "He's not much either of our type, actually. And I'd say it was a his-grandfather-and-your-grandfather sort of thing, but his grandfather is dead and his father's not very friendly, is he?"  
"He's not invited to anything at Downton. Ever," Edward said, beginning to become more coherent as the caffeine reached his brain. "Which is why I'd never even met David until here."  
(David? thought Clarey.)

"Well, it wouldn't do any good to ask him to sit with us instead," he chuckled, imagining how that would go. "Maybe he should just stay with inviting you over and plying you with intellectual conversations if he wants to win you as a friend."

 

Edward took a few more sips of the tea, shivering as a draft clutched at his ankles.  
He didn't know if he wanted to be friends with a boy who wouldn't mix in with Clarey.  
And yet, he found David Winthrop oddly interesting in spite of the alarm bells, so he decided not to overthink the thing for once.  
"It's probably worry for nothing. He needed some help on a question, and now that I've been useful it will likely end with that."  
Rising, he went to dress. The morning wake up call was coming on.

\---

 

"The dining hall's going to be freezing," Clarey said as they finally started across.  
While January 1949 wasn't the worst they remembered by far, it was still chilly enough walking across the quad.  
"We'll survive," Edward said, pulling his hat over his ears.  
The fresh air was ridding his brain of its final cobwebs, and he was ready to get on with whatever the day might hold.  
Eyes scanning, Talbot was thankful to note fewer boys cutting them, meaning the storm might just be starting to pass.  
"We've got the paper due tomorrow," he reminded, mind starting to click through ordinary matters.

His paper, of course, was finished and edited. Clarey's was scribbled in draft from yesterday, and would be finished in (the nick of) time. Thinking on it, Edward felt a faint twinge of guilt he'd been too late coming back to even lend a hand.

 

"And the readings," Clarey said, glowering. He always read things thoroughly, taking notes, and could remember as much as Edward by pure force of competition. But it was only their life long friendship that made him not irritated at the way Talbot could pick up and skim the same material, retaining it whole.  
"We should go over those," Edward said. "If you want, of course."

Clarey's smile split his face. "We'll get our usual pile of food and take it to the room. Lock the door and not come out 'through lunch. I've done it all, of course, but wouldn't mind whacking the whole thing through."  
His friend huffed lightly, watching how long and loose the other boy's limbs were and wishing for the millionth time he was more like Clarey Bates. 

"That sounds like a plan."

 

It was good to have a partner in crime such as Clarey. Even if they could never be anything more than friends, sometimes Edward realized that was Almost enough.

\---

Inside the hall, Bates led the way and slid in next to Kuragin, since that young man hadn't returned to their table from the night before.  
Still, as most of the boys they usually sat with shifted over to the new location, Edward could see it was a casual but easy way of sorting. It allowed anyone who worried too much over any continuing problem the option of not coming with. 

Meanwhile, the boys who usually sat at Kuragin's table grumbled a bit, but budged over. (They never got more than two words out of the Russian, anyway, so it was more a sense of irritation over being displaced a few feet than any sort of real concern.)

 

"I tried when we first came to tell the cook the Downton recipes for breakfast rolls once," Clarey said, looking first at Mikhail and then at a disappointing bit of pastry in his hand.  
"She wasn't willing to change."  
"She almost took a pin to you," Edward murmured, adding butter and beginning to munch. "Mrs. Parker doesn't mind your cheek, because she watched you grow. But regular cooks are not amenable to suggestions, especially when suggestions have thinly veiled insults to their current dish."

"Phht! I made it up," Clarey grinned. He could always charm his way out of things.

 

"You complimented her gruel?" Kuragin asked sarcastically, stirring his breakfast cereal.  
He didn't really want to talk to anyone, but there was something about Clarey Bates that forced conversation out.

Clarey turned the smile on his newest friend as Edward gave a slight huff.  
"No, I gave her some flowers. All women like flowers, and the old girls don't get them as much as they should.  
"After all, I'd insulted her, so I had to do things right, even if my intent hadn't been wrong."

"Flowers?"  
Misha stopped and stared, blue eyes narrowing unexpectedly, making a startled Clarey halt.  
"An apology, yes, but that seems....too extravagant for such a small slight. Didn't she suspect you were trying to...play her for a fool?"  
(Had he been wrong about them? Were they subtly trying to play HIM for a fool right now? Here he'd thought them the type who did no harm.)  
And just like that, Kuragin's expression went blank.

 

"We work in the garden. They're free," Edward threw in, immediately understanding the spikey tone and shuttered expression for what it was--some odd sort of fear.  
Looking directly over at the other boy, meeting him eye to eye, he kept talking in hopes that his tone if not his words would smooth whatever it was down.  
"Well, we don't work, truly. I don't want to bill what we do as anything as valued as that...just putter and do what we can.  
"But I miss the gardens back home you see, the history and symmetry of it all. So we just...help."

Then he clapped his mouth shut, realizing he was starting to ramble in the way he usually only did with Clarey. 

Clarey, who now sat across from him with an amused sort of grin, unfrozen from the few tense seconds and ready to dive in again.

 

Turning to face Kuragin, Bates added, "Not a bouquet that you'd give a sweetheart, Mish, just some posies that Stanley said I could nick. I wasn't putting her on....I don't do that. We don't." Clarey's tone was frank and honest, persuasive and warm.  
"And, yes, we study in the garden amidst the flowers--very Wordsworthian. When it's spring, you can join us, if you don't mind the weeds amid the roses."

"Always weeds amid the roses," the other boy said finally, nodding, but beginning to relax once more.

\---

After that, the Russian hadn't added many words to the conversation, but he seemed to track the ebb and flow of it well enough.  
What he did say indicated that he'd read and understood the same subjects they had, and most of the same readings, too.  
Bright. Conscientious.  
"Not too shabby, is he?" Clarey almost crowed as they crossed back to their rooms. 

"Not very jolly, though, and that was your goal, wasn't it? Laughing?"  
Still, Edward had to nod in agreement.  
Even with the edginess, Kuragin wasn't as bad as his perpetual isolation had led him to expect....perhaps Edward shouldn't listen to the same rumor mill that he had found so irksome in dealing with himself.

Frankly, Edward found him interesting.

 

"Give him time. He's English, but he's still got that dark mood hanging over. Makes it that much more of a challenge, that much more rewarding when I've cracked the puzzle."  
Clarey caught one glove in his teeth as he yanked the other on, then reversed.  
The silence let Edward look him over.  
"Was I a challenge?" he asked (an uncharacteristic worry coming to mind this morning planted by a few casual comments from David the afternoon before.)

 

"What?" Clarey asked, gloves finished.  
"Because I'm not as trusting, or as vocal as you are?"  
Clarey snorted. "I've not noticed you being all that quiet around me. Must've been a phase that passed during toddlerhood."  
He looked at his friend with a smirk and a quick clout to the shoulder. "NO, you numpty. The challenge with you is just keeping up. And I'm quite the man for that job."  
And amiably, they continued to the rooms that substituted for "home."

\---

Mikhail, meanwhile, was going on with his ordinary schedule but not thinking along his ordinary lines--for he found that even these brief encounters had left him wanting Edward & Clarey as friends.  
Actual friends, which meant he'd have to step beyond the comfortable isolation that he'd built for himself.

And, of course, wanting such a thing made him a fool.  
Such bright, shining, innocents dealing with his moods and secrets? Absurd.

 

The Russian sighed, knowing it was unlikely to become anything truly permanent.  
Yet even though he'd been raised by a family of nihilists & cynics, somehow inside Misha was a romantic who'd just been disappointed (so far) by life.  
And thus, while his mind said it was ridiculous to believe in love & friendship, some better part of him still wanted to reach out and connect, hoping there was some to be found.

And making it around the corner, safe with his small portion of dreams,  
Misha smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

-  
-  
-  
Day after day, week after week, time slipped on.

As February swept in, sleet made Johnny's rooms not just cold but damp, and he wrapped himself more thoroughly with a blanket over his clothes as he soldiered on with the tasks at hand.  
John had preferred a single assignment, which meant he was up in a mean little scholar's Bed-Sit in the attic, rather than in drafty magnificance below. (Violet's offer of keys WAS truly logical, for at times the place was too cold--and noisy--to get things done.)  
Busily Bates chugged away, having risen several hours early to do so.  
And in the quiet he could hear not just the scratch and rustle of his pen & papers, but also the scratch and rustle of mice within the wall.

The noise annoyed him, but there was no fix to it.  
It wasn't that Johnny left anything out to toll the creatures in, but even having everything wrapped and in the locked cupboard didn't help.  
The other students weren't always as careful about crumbs and such, making the battle with mice a losing one.  
So, hissing a bit in exasperation, Johnny worked on.

 

As though conjured by his thoughts of other students, however, he heard the beginnings of another, more human sound.  
A groan, a bit of a whimper.  
"Hello?" he said aloud, then not trusting his voice to carry adequately through the door without also carrying through the walls to wake the others, Johnny stood,  
grumbling about his rotten luck.  
"Hello?" he repeated, more softly when he'd actually opened the door and stood staring into the darkly shadowed hall.

 

It was frustrating, this interruption in the wee smalls.  
Today, especially, he wanted everything done, since besides his job clerking he also hoped to steal an hour or two this evening to actually take Violet out on the town.  
And now he was wasting time on what was undoubtedly either a prank or a drunk.

 

Early on, John had found that some of the less studious young men were apt to spend All hours drinking, since alcohol was readily available to anyone with the money to pay.  
Indeed, Bates had been startled more than once as some unknown boy had drifted up, riffling around for food at the end of a 'lost' night. (Even a locked cupboard might be jimmied by some of the lot who in this state were doubly rude, feeling entitled to whatever anyone had--even without pay.)

So Johnny was worried he was letting himself in for something similar now, opening his door to it. But another noise, almost a sob this time. caught at his conscience.  
"Hello?"  
Johnny actually went down the hall, sure now that whoever it was, drunk or not, sounded hurt.  
"Who's there?"

 

"Just me. It's fine."  
Lewis Jenson stood there--or rather leaned there--in the corner by his doorway, fumbling at the knob.  
"Lewis?"  
Now, Johnny didn't like the young man--not that he was evil or had done anything wrong. But there was just an annoying, cloying quality to him that always grated one the wrong way.  
"What's the matter?"  
The boy's already poor clothing looked ripped and rumpled, and there was an odd odor of sweat and paint.

 

Bates sighed. Obviously he didn't wish to waste time on this, wanted the time for his books, wanted the time to get ahead so that he could then spend what minutes he'd saved with his Violet.  
Still, there was 'want' and there was 'need.'

"I can see that you aren't 'fine.'"  
Had he fallen? Got into some tins of paint in storage below? But there were no stains on the skin outside his clothing...nor on the clothing itself. Just a ripped and rumpled and disarranged look. 

At that Jenson turned his face to John--his odd, delicate features red and swollen.  
"You might as well come in, I suppose," he said ungraciously. But then a slight hitching gasp came out. "I'd appreciate some help."

\---

A few hours later, Violet Talbot woke up in a far less dire circumstance.  
For thanks to her mama, and Violet's own actions, she lived in her very own flat.

Back at the start of things, Violet hadn't felt it was too much to ask for organization and quiet in one's rooming assignments. And unlike the other girls, she had attempted to organize and quiet them All.  
(John might adapt to the needs of his surroundings, but Violet really preferred not to adapt to anything at all....unless it was logical and justified, of course.)  
Her hall mates did not agree.

Apparently some of the girls back then had passed the matter along to the junior censor, who then took it upon himself to straighten Violet out.  
(Foolish man.)  
A talk with the girl was followed by a call to Lady Mary, who proved the tart apple didn't fall far from the tree.  
And after gathering the data, all parties agreed the rather starchy Violet Talbot had no need for matronly supervision and was perfectly suited to live apart from other female students.  
She would, in short, do quite fine on her own. (Removing the thorn from everyone's side, said censor decreed.)

 

The telephone rang as she finished a small bit of what passed for breakfast, having dressed herself and prepared to make a start.  
"You'll never guess who's come from Town," Gennie gushed without preamble (expecting Violet simply to know her by voice.)  
"Who?" Town, of course, was London, though it was a city and where they were could be considered a city, too.

"Googie Sloane. They've only just come back from Switzerland. Googie's parents have a place there, and he says they simply lost track of the days. Can you imagine?"  
Laughter ran over the line again.  
"The simp got back to Town and looked at a calendar and saw he was late for classes to start...by a month. Trust Googie for that."

 

Violet sighed slightly. As much as she enjoyed Gennie's company most times, found her sharp as a tack under the silly artifice, there was one grave flaw in the girl.  
She wanted to pair everyone up.  
And, not knowing Violet was already 'paired' quite thoroughly, she'd been chatting up this acquaintance of hers for weeks.  
(Perhaps, though, sharp as she was, Gennie DID know where Violet's heart was venturing, and she wanted to keep her friend safe.)

 

"That does sound rather simple of him," Violet said, when she realized the static-y silence had grown expectant.  
"He's such a tease," Gennie said back. "Of course they knew, but what can one do when his mother expects him to stay? Family outweighs books."  
Violet nodded to her unseen audience. "Yes." (Family outweighed everything in Violet's mind.)  
"So I thought perhaps we'd throw him a bit of a 'do' to smooth his way back," the other girl said, hopefully. "Maybe you could come with? Finally get to meet my bonny lad?"  
Her cooing drawl was amusing, but the idea was not.

 

To this, Violet snorted quietly but inelegantly. She wouldn't be meeting him tonight.  
"I'm sorry, Gennie, but I already have other plans."  
Still, she had to keep going or there'd be questions following up her statement.  
"Perhaps I could meet your friend sometime later? When he's a bit more settled would undoubtedly show more tact. He's probably still resting from the trip in last night."

Giving way a bit to meeting the boy didn't bother Violet at all. Johnny needn't fear. (He never did, she believed.) For she'd met many boys over the years, and even before her heart was spoken for, not a single one had been a match. 

Besides, with time she'd try to wriggle out.  
Agreeing with many expressions of goodwill, the girls promised to meet on the way in and cleared the wire.

\---

By the time Violet met her friend and the two were safely ensconced at class,  
her brother Edward had already done a half day's work--though not all of it assigned.  
Johnny studying law, Violet literature, the younger two had settled in to read Philosophy--though a great deal of their time was spent satisfying the whims of a professor of Egyptology who seemed periodically to hunt them down.  
It was the spice that added to college life.

"What's the Gunn want this time?"  
By now, Misha had given over and let his guard down...at least a bit.  
He'd become part of the small circle of friends, keeping an eye out, getting to know more about Clarey & Edward than they might have supposed.  
The two were late to the library because they'd been detained by the old man, and their good cheer was a result.

 

"A while ago we gave him some copies of expedition notes we made over the holidays," Edward smiled, every bit sunny as his friend for the moment. "He was telling Clarey he was impressed he'd done 'adequately' with the lot."  
Misha tilted his head and considered. "For that one, 'adequate' is high praise, I think."  
The other two almost giggled with it. "High praise, indeed," Clarey agreed, feeling completely the champ.

 

They'd not pursued Egyptology itself, since both of them wanted to stay rooted at Downton. Their perfect year was circumscribed by a basic Yorkshire calendar, with perhaps a trip abroad at times.  
(After college, the boys hoped Clarey could be added along on family ventures that until now had included only his parents. Perhaps, even, just be the two of them allowed to ramble a bit alone?)  
"If I ever do get to go over, I'd want to be able to read what the inscriptions say, after all," Bates explained, smiling at Kuragin.

Then turning toward Edward, "Course, he's still trying to rope you in. The old boy's gone all over fiesty, newly married and at the top of things."  
"And yet, I remain un-roped," Edward said smoothly, rolling his eyes at Clarey's impudence.  
"I like family history equally with Egyptian. That won't be undone by a few hours with people here, even if Gunn's the impressive sort."

 

"So you'll see to family business when you leave?" Misha said, already knowing the answer.  
"Mmmm...Family history, I expect. My brother's the heir, but he's more concerned about reforms and medicine, so there's a spot."  
"And when you marry?"  
This new subject hung there a bit awkwardly, Kuragin's intense stare giving it too much weight--though the question itself was of a harmless sort.

"If I marry," Edward said. "It will have to be someone who expects to be part of all that. Who'd be happy with what I can and can't give."  
He looked over at Misha, green eyes wide and clear. "I don't think it's a bad thing to love Downton, but it might be a solitary thing, you know. Not very tempting to a wife."

 

"I'll have a wife and a dozen children you can play godfather to," Clarey jumped in to take Misha's scrutiny off Edward.  
"And your job?"  
"A business of some sort in the area. Something to bring in enough, but still be the type of thing to put aside if adventure makes a call."  
The Russian's face still retained it's usual placid look, but his eyes were amused.  
"Ah, then it's YOUR wife who will have the problems, I'd wager."

Edward nodded. "He's a handful, our Clarence. Don't know who'll be able to keep up."  
And finding himself a very confusing two against one,  
Clarey at first started to frown, but looking at them--blue eyes, green eyes, both sets amused--and he merely laughed back himself, out loud.

"She'll be extraordinary, of course. Have to be. I'm quite the prize, I am."

\---

Meanwhile, not being younger siblings of a great family (or middle class strivers),  
Robert Pelham, David Winthrop, and Googie Sloane weren't talking seriously of what they would do in the future. The term 'entitled' literally applied to them.  
College was more a last gasp at freedom and license, and Sloane especially intended to take full advantage of that.  
None of them had rested from a series of raucous 'welcome back' and 'celebratory' events since the large boy had come back to join in the night Before.

Now, though, they finally had to collapse at the Bear for a moment.  
(And Robbie Pelham, who looked rather ashen, seemed to have as his sole desire for the moment simply getting drunk though it was but half one.)

 

"I'm surprised I didn't see you skiing last month, old fellow," Sloane said, downing his third whiskey with great aplomb. "Don't you enjoy it any more?"  
Looking over and seeing the question in Pelham's eyes, he smirked. "His parents were over there together for once, at least for the start."  
Winthrop showed his teeth, somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

"Mama is dreadfully keen, isn't she? She does love your folks.  
"But I don't do command performances, even for pater familias."  
He'd made various comments over the months that had let Robbie know he didn't approve of his father, though none that exactly spelled out why.  
Of course, Pelham wasn't thinking of solving the mystery, calling for another round and swallowing the 'medicine' like that was the answer home.

 

"Well, it was a wonderful time," Googie said, plowing through any undercurrents.  
"Let me tell you all about it."  
And in detail, with verve and emphasis on the more off colored bits, Sloane did.


	5. Chapter 5

(Note: description of harassment, in case that's a trigger)  
-  
-  
-  
-  
Meanwhile, Johnny Bates was both exhausted and exasperated at how the long, late day had gone.

"I told you it wouldn't do any good," Lewis Jenson said petulantly from beside him, pushing the point once more.  
Lewis sat at the far side of the passenger seat, making himself small.  
His face showed mottled bruising from the night before--redness replaced by a creeping aubergine and dusky blue.  
"No one listens."  
And as much as Bates disliked him, at this moment his heart went out to the boy whose life seemed so sad.

 

Sleet was pecking at the motor car window, and the boy turned to talk to his own reflection in the glass rather than face John himself.  
"At prep, they actually used a straight razor once, pulled my pants down saying I needed a shave. Scared me so much I passed out for fear, drunk as they were."  
He smirked. "And the boy who led the pack got a 'talking to'....and so did I, even had my father called in, with the suggestion I'd brought it on myself."  
(At least that explained why Lewis was so shaken when he'd tried to help him clean up. This--and worse--had happened before.)

 

"Unlike you, I've been boarding most of my life. I know how things are done."  
The heat was blasting out of the vents of the car, and Johnny felt like he and Lewis were trapped together in some sort of bubble for the duration. Cold and darkening outside, warm and slightly steamed over within.  
"Maybe this time..." he said, drifting off a bit. "It's a different school, after all...College."

"If they write something like that off as a prank, one must know they'll do even less for a little paint. Even here."

 

Bates DID understand that, somewhat. Lewis wouldn't tell him who the boys had been, but had told him they were toffs with titles--the one he knew from his prep school did the deed, while the other two did nothing but watch.  
And while they all pretended to be equals within the walls of the college, John was not so naive. Making a complaint to one of the proctors wouldn't get them far.  
Which was why he'd suggested going to the lawyers where he was clerking.

What Johnny'd hoped for was simply that Lewis get some sound advice on what to do or whom to call.  
"So that's it then? You aren't having anyone even try to help? With someone more official calling to add some weight to your story, perhaps you'd at least be safer from here on out."  
(Johnny made his suggestion one last time, trying to pull one last chance of success out of a very long and fruitless expedition.)

"It's useless. I told you."  
The other boy wrapped his arms around himself, his voice gone completely flat.

 

Turning to the window again, Lewis Jenson heaved a small shuddering sigh.  
Which left Johnny Bates exasperated. Not at Lewis, but at the system.  
'Justice' was the reason he wanted to go into the law, after all.  
And tonight there was no justice to be found.

\---

Dropping Jenson by the gates of college, Johnny circled back through town.  
It was far, far later than he'd anticipated being done with things.  
And though Johnny'd told Violet he'd be late, he almost didn't try to stop.  
Surely by now she'd've given up waiting.

Still....it WAS Violet.

 

Putting the car away in the garage where she stored it, he twirled the ring of keys around his finger. (Smiling just a bit as he watched the ring swing once, twice, three times jingling around.)  
Walking to the back of the building, he looked up and could see the light streaming from her windows.  
And relief swept through him.  
"I can always count on you, can't I, Miss Violet?  
"My lovely, stubborn girl."

 

Going quietly so as not to disturb anyone (and not create a scandal being seen), he went in and up the stairs.  
Where even before he managed to get the key in and turned, the door opened.  
"I've been waiting," she said. "After you called and said you'd be late, I wouldn't allow myself to worry though."  
(She drew him in and took his coat from him, allowing herself to soothe the both of them with touch.)  
"But it was getting to be a VERY long wait." (Tutting, patting, brushing a bit of hair from his eyes.)

 

"Too long," he agreed.  
And gathering her into his arms, he held her a few moments just to get his bearings back.  
His belief there were decent people in the world.  
That everything was all right.  
"Thank you for waiting up," he said softly.

But for once she said nothing back, just held on to him even tighter,  
breathed warmly into the curve of his neck, and smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

-  
-  
-  
The week of misery-making sleet had given way to a few of those spectacular winter days filled with sunshine and a hint of freshness in the air.  
Edward Talbot walked along feeling as though some weight was lifted just by the weather alone. (Not ALL the weight, but some.)  
Face tilted upward, he drank in the brightness--which even in the chill of winter made him feel slightly less cold.

He absolutely needed the sun this morning.  
Sun and silence--which had inspired a long, looping walk around the upper garden, before now finally heading back toward "home."  
For Edward's thoughts were taking him every which way, and he had needed time to work things out.

 

His earlier moodiness wasn't because a few people continued to glare and talk behind their hands about him,  
but mainly because of the One person who'd (only) smiled his way.  
You see, that morning as Edward was cutting back through toward the rooms, he'd seen David Winthrop crossing the quad with a small group of friends, sans Robbie.

That fact alone was certainly common enough--he'd seen the boy in similar groups on and off over time and never given them (or him) more than a thought.  
Yet now he did.  
And as he watched and waited, David looked over, then looked away. Looked back across and gave him a smile and a small nod, but nothing more. Then walked (rather quickly) on.  
Absurd.

Ridiculous to worry about THAT he told himself (as though one could calm a racing brain with logic or order it to stop.)  
Because in spite of there being no cut or glower, no nastiness at all, Edward was hit with the usual anxious questions that ate at the core of his life these days. 

 

How do you know if another boy's interested? (David'd certainly seemed interested.)  
And would he ever manage to find someone to love? (He certainly felt unloveable today.)

\---

"Did you memorize that section in Gardiner's?"  
Clarey loped up to join him, interrupting Edward's skittering thoughts.  
And for the hundredth time (at least) Edward wished they were as compatible in "that sort of way" as they were in every other.  
Then there'd be no David Winthrop tickling his thoughts.

However, "I looked through the book," was all he answered.  
Then with a pointed stare, and raised eyebrow, "Hello."

"Good," Clarey smiled, pausing before....  
"And hello to you, too. I was wondering where you'd got to today."  
Falling into step, they walked along the sunlit path, shoulder to shoulder & side by side.  
"Misha and I read through the rest of what the old man gave us and made notes, and I'll give them to you to check over, since you won't have to look every inscription up."

 

Now while he'd known Clarey was working on that half of things, Edward couldn't help shaking his head and huffing. Poor Kuragin was now doing the extra work, too?  
Share and share alike?  
The sheer audacity of Clarey Bates made him forget his more personal concerns, and a wave of affection overcame him. Edward didn't know whether to laugh or howl, hug him or curse him for how easily everything came.  
(Bates meanwhile was satisfied, seeing Edward begin to smile, even if he for once had no clue why.) 

 

The blonde shifted the bundle in his arms and tilted his head to the left. "Let's go this way, on to town. "  
Of course Talbot was agreeable; he'd had his walk, but didn't mind continuing on.  
"Have you got him to laugh yet? Misha?" he asked after a few moments, his doubts confirmed when Clarey snorted in response.  
"Can you at least get him to come over to our rooms for tea? I'd think by now we could 'push' enough for that."

"There's a mystery there. I keep trying to tell you," Clarey said, grinning his usual impudent grin.  
  
"He's lucky he's interesting. Or by now you'd've stopped 'reading' the mystery and put him down."  
But would Clarey have? For all the frenetic pace of his mind, Bates didn't easily let people go.  
It was his rock solid loyalty Edward appreciated most of all.

\---

As they walked past the porter's lodge, the bell in the tower started ringing.  
Deep, sonorous, crystal notes cut the clear air, making both boys pause.  
And in the distance the other lighter bells joined in by thirds making a celestial sort of 'song,' reminding them of the bells at St. Michael's.  
Home. (How good was the word itself's sound.)  
However, it wasn't long before the bells stopped ringing, and the two boys had to move along.

 

"I've got to put this package in the post, then we can track Misha down and get on with things."  
Edward hummed in agreement, though the task itself made him rather sad.  
While it shouldn't bother him (should make him happy for Clarey), the 'package' was an armload of books to be sent back home to a girl who'd caught Clarey's eye. And he could feel things changing right in front of him.  
(How much easier it would be if he could openly flirt with anyone who caught HIS eye.  
Just get the suspense over with. Just find out. Not be so nervous about it, that love walked on by and.... )

 

"Something wrong?"  
Clarey nudged him with his shoulder, pulling him back to reality.  
"You're getting those two lines between your eyebrows like this." And the boy screwed up his face so monstrously, even Edward had to give over and laugh.  
"Not that duke again, is it?"  
(David wasn't a duke yet, and Clarey knew it quite well. Calling the other boy by his father's title was a subtle sort of dig at Winthrop. His status, after all, was what appeared to make him most proud, and......)  
"No."

 

It was the short answer, though not entirely correct.  
(But David HADN'T done anything against him, now had he?  
Like an itch that wouldn't be scratched--a smile, then he kept moving through.  
Amazing how much more tantalizing that was than simply an open invitation would be. How the ambiguity of it kept him dangling on...)  
"Well something's got you into your head again," Clarey said as they made it to the post office queue.

Edward looked down at his shoes, suddenly intent on how they lacked their usual shine.  
"I'm perfectly all right." But the answer came out so unconvincingly, Talbot blushed.  
Clarey huffed, looking to make sure no one around was paying the two of them any mind.  
"No, you're not. There's something."

 

Fortunately, the counter bell dinged, and the weighing and posting of the package took his attention while Edward stood to the side quietly thinking.  
Something? Yes, there was something.  
How do you know if another boy's interested? (Could David be interested or had the flattering tone and invitation that afternoon just been a tease?)

 

"There. That should satisfy her just dandy."  
Clarey'd managed to pick the books, wrap the package, and mail them....after much dithering.  
He was still nervous about it, though, Edward could tell.  
"She'll like them, Clarey. She wants to study, but she'll like them especially because you remembered and sent them on."  
His voice was warm and convincing this time.

And Bates' smile flashed, sunshine bright, warming him more than the sky.  
"Probably. Though it seems a bit odd to try to flirt with someone by post."  
Walking once again side by side down the sidewalk, Edward tilted his face up, smiling, finding peace with his friend by his side.  
"She'll love what you sent, and unless she's a fool, she'll soon enough love you....if that's what you want."  
He grinned up at Clarey. "We'll nickname you 'Cyrano.'"

"Oi, don't make fun of my nose." But the blonde laughed in spite of unconsciously putting up a hand to rub at what he considered the least handsome part of his face. (Though girls seemed to like it fine.)  
And for the hundredth time, Edward wished someone half as good as Clarey could be fond of him the way he needed them to be.

\---

Meanwhile, Misha Kuragin was enjoying an hour's calm isolation.  
The sun was shining and the air was crisp. He'd taken the path down through the meadow where Clarey & Edward swore there were gardens in corners under the snow.  
Right now, though, all that was visible were the trees.  
Dark trunks and black branches reaching up into almost blinding blue skies. And in the quiet, the ice making a faint crackling, dripping sound as it melted along the edges.

Misha'd traced a solitary track of footprints down the path and stood there, admiring.  
It was peaceful, tranquil, and he could allow himself to relax and simply....be.

 

They'd been good to him these past weeks, Clarey & Edward--far better than anyone outside of his family had been for years. (Inside of his family, too, in most cases. For even there he felt like an outsider, walking under judgment's eyes.)  
Misha felt more comfortable in their friendship than with any of the others he'd met at school.

 

Of course, it was still impossible for Kuragin to trust them completely,  
to be himself and totally unafraid.  
Friendship? He dared to believe that might be possible if he kept enough of himself hidden.  
( If he reached beyond his grasp, though, trying to get too much,  
he'd overshoot and lose the whole thing.) 

And breathing deeply, Misha continued walking, trying to imagine where under the light snow the gardens were.  
Slightly daydreaming and thinking of spring.


	7. Chapter 7

-  
-  
-  
After two more artfully planned 'chance' encounters to pique Talbot's interest, David Winthrop once again invited the boy over to help with a problem 'assignment'....an invitation that caused Edward both excitement and disbelief.  
At the end of his tether, he finally broke over and shared with Clarey what had him worried.  
"I just wish I understood what sort of game he's trying to play. It feels like I'm being strung along."

Edward grumbled and paced the sitting room, robe fluttering over pajamas and thin ankles.  
It was almost time to dress again for classes, and he hadn't even slept the night before.  
"When he came over to ask me, it had every bit the tone of YOU asking someone for a date,  
and yet a week ago he passed me by without even an 'hello.'"

 

Clarey came with the kettle to top him, momentarily creating a pause in the action.  
"If it's studying or palling about, I'd say go to, but would you actually want HIM for something more than that?"  
Bates stood there, dressed and taking care of things in his usual mumsy fashion, and Edward looked at him--both confused and upset.  
"Shouldn't I?" Talbot sipped at his drink, though the tea cup gave an irritated chatter as he put it back.  
"Shouldn't I want to get on with things, like you?"

Clarey, however, was having none of the tension.  
Ploughing through with, "Of course you should, but not with someone who'll drive you mad. Do you think anyone I've flirted with has been bothered this much?"  
He returned the kettle to its position, throwing back cheekily over his shoulder, "and I'm a much better prospect than any duke of the realm."  
(The truth of which accidentally pierced Edward straight to the heart.)

\---

The day was an absolute blur to Talbot--usually his memory kept things neatly catalogued in spite of circumstance, but it was doing none of that today.  
There were classes to get through, though, and a meeting with the tutor that went by with barely a dozen words.  
At lunch Kuragin was the one volleying back and forth in conversation with Clarey. ( While Edward moved his food listlessly round his plate in too much of a funk to pay attention, which had both boys looking on in dismay.)

Eventually by afternoon, Talbot begged off entirely, wasting several hours in what was more unconsciousness than a nap.

\---

Finally when it was time to go, Clarey came back by their rooms to see him off.  
The taller boy fiddled with Edward's tie and brushed his jacket, with eyes so serious he looked like his friend was facing a firing squad instead of the possibility of love. (No admonishment, though. Edward's words of the morning stopped any further repeat of that.)  
And somewhat hesitantly, he gave what he could of advice.  
"If it were me and some random girl," Clarey said carefully. "If I was interested, I'd try to kiss her or make some sort of Unmistakable indication somehow. Would have done so earlier than this, really, but at least by a second time alone tonight."

"So you're saying I'll know tonight for certain?"

The tips of Edward's ears were red and he was upset at Clarey's lack of tact, but it still was a sensible note.  
"I believe so, yes. Besides, if he leaves you dangling, shouldn't YOU put a line under it? Risk a move or say he's not worth the price?"  
Edward nodded, though he didn't know if Clarey's suggestion was right, since the situations were different.  
Still he swallowed nervously and felt himself begin to perspire a bit all the same.

(If only Barrow was here. Barrow might know.)

\---

When Edward managed to get himself to Winthrop's rooms, what he found was both better and worse than what he'd imagined.  
"Lawks, we had quite the time of it, we did," he heard a rather stout ginger named Googie trumpeting as he sloshed a bit of his drink from his glass and went gesturing on.  
And under his blast, other softer voices were drawling.  
For Edward was surprised to find that what he'd struggled all day to convince himself was time for him alone,  
was in actuality a veritable 'gathering' of six or eight.

David's usual crowd were lounging about indolently as he entered, turning their eyes slightly sideways to watch him, a temporary silence growing as he came.  
(And while Talbot wasn't sure what they were talking about, he was sure he wouldn't like it, judging by the nervous, rather embarrassed looks his cousin Robbie threw his way.)

 

Disappointment warred with relief they were not alone.

Still, David immediately began 'seeing' to him, making Edward feel comfortable in spite of the boisterous mix.  
"I needed to ask you a few questions, but then this lot showed up," the dark eyed boy said to him, almost purring it in a low voice to his ear. "I wish I could throw them out so we could be alone, but, alas, I can not."  
And without volition, Edward felt himself flush from Winthrop's proximity, and the more he colored the more embarrassed he became.  
(I must look as red as berries right now, he thought, trying to breathe deeply and force himself to still....only to let his eyes become fascinated by the redness of David's mouth.)

 

"I'm sure your friends are quite entertaining," he finally managed, taking the whiskey David handed him, though truly preferring tea or wine.  
One sip of the drink and Edward coughed. "They seem interesting."  
"Only if you're fortified," Winthrop smirked. " Drink up, and it will make things pass more smoothly, I've found."  
Downing his and going for a second, David was as good as his word. 

Edward, however, dumped most of his drink in a nearby plant. (Silently apologizing to its roots.)  
And in that way, got through the time having only a few sips here and there, while watching from his corner as the rest become progressively more intoxicated...and loud.

\---

Meanwhile, back across the way, Clarey was offering Mikhail a cup of tea and some biscuits they'd been sent from home.  
"You'll see what I mean about the superiority of Downton's kitchen," he smiled.  
Edward had been right about 'pushing' the boy to come over to the rooms to study.  
Irritating, though, that tonight he had to be out, missing the success of seeing Misha relaxed & here.  
But with that thought of his missing mate, Clarey became distracted--twiddling his pen, watching the clock, and in general giving over to a case of nerves himself.

 

"You should have just told him if you don't think it's a good idea to go out," Mikhail finally said, having taken in the show long enough.  
(Shite, Clarey thought. )  
The blonde tried to settle back. He didn't ask what Misha meant--even this early in being actual friends, Bates already knew that Kuragin was every bit as fast and observant as Edward.  
He'd have to be careful not to give away his best friend's whole show.

"It IS good, though. He has to keep up with that side of things, the side I'm not a part of."  
And he reached over with what he hoped was a casual gesture to take a sip of tea already gone cold, hoping the other boy's keen eyes would unpin him & leave him go.

 

"Good if the boy he's gone to see is good," Misha said, in the gentlest voice he'd yet used.  
"But if it has you this worried, perhaps you think the other boy's not? Not good for him? Not good at all?"  
At Clarey's shrug, Misha frowned slightly and looked down at his own tea, feeling concerned about Edward himself. 

However, Russians weren't much better than the English at expressing emotions--other than, perhaps, gloom.  
And Kuragin had the reticence of both countries in him.  
"We should get to our work, then," he murmured when Clarey failed to answer further.

"I just meant, if you thought he needed to stay, next time say something. And we'd study together all three, if we should."  
(I tried to say something, Clarey thought. But I'm afraid I didn't manage to say it right.)

\---

Their concern was warranted.  
At Winthrop's, the others were becoming more taken by drink.  
And at first they WERE indeed more convivial--with slight, silly arguments such as joining Brooks' versus White's or why escorting a girl to debut was completely passe.  
Standing as much out of the way as he could, however, Edward soon heard snips and snags of stories that weren't as amusing as what the inebriates thought. Bitter, bigotted comments. Robbie sidling up with a bit of snark.  
Until finally, overwhelmed a bit by the false bon ami and smoke, Edward decided he'd had enough of this and planned his 'break.'.

 

Fortunately for him, the coats were in the back room, easily accessible and piled with abandon across David's bed. (Edward paused as he considered it for a moment, feeling himself flush.)  
It was so warm and cluttered and personal in here, with David's bits and bobs strewn about. Smelling of cologne and smoke and something a bit earthier.  
It stopped him just a moment before he could take his things and go.

"Surely you aren't leaving so soon?"  
The voice behind him made Edward start.  
He'd hesitated a moment too long, allowing David to find him.  
"We can't do much with everyone here," the younger boy said, referring to their studies, though realizing afterward it could be taken a different way. 

 

"No. Pity," David replied. "Still, you haven't a fresh drink. I could get us both a refill and we could sit here in the quiet and...talk."  
Was this what Clarey termed an 'indication'? But he'd failed to 'talk' to him or pull him aside privately all night. And again, there was that puzzling tone--something that both made promises and yet kept Edward unnerved.  
It had just the slightest tinge of nastiness to it. (Was that part of things, Talbot wondered, when one crossed the line from innocence?)  
And of course, the top reason, beyond these little niggling hints--David was absolutely, swerving drunk.

 

Brain only slightly warmed by what small bit of alcohol he'd not managed to avoid, Edward automatically evaluated things.  
(His body was responding, his emotions somewhat lagging behind. Still his brain was giving a full out warning of STOP.  
This wasn't the time or place, if ever a time or place there would be.)

"We can talk some other time, when you haven't guests to see to. But it's been most kind of you to make me feel at home."  
He blandly blithered on with conventionalities as he made himself find his coat and scarf, and pull them on.

Mouth pulled into a smile (though with some other emotion showing in his eyes), David reached past to pick up and then hand over his hat.  
"You don't want to forget this," he murmured, as though caring and worried. "It's a cold, cruel world out there tonight.  
"We don't want you caught out in the storm."  
There was a huskiness to the tone, a bit of mockery.

And though it absolutely couldn't be,  
somehow it sounded like a threat.


	8. Chapter 8

-  
-  
-  
The light from the desk lamp puddled around Misha as he worked alone into the night.  
Around himself he'd wrapped a brightly patterned, knitted thing Anna Bates had sent with biscuits & jams in a box from home for Clarey. (The biscuits were almost completely gone--the kitchen superior indeed.)  
The warmth of it was comforting, wrapped like a tiny blue blanket around him,  
and Misha tried to be at peace.

The clock on the mantel ticked along like his heartbeat, and as the hands moved further around the face, the young man's disappointment grew.  
That was it, then. Edward Talbot must have found what he was looking for, obviously, to stay out so late in the night.  
(And Kuragin reminded himself it was of no matter to him, that their kindness was more than he'd thought to have, their friendship more than he'd need.)

 

For these two knew everything about what friendship was supposed to be.  
Misha'd almost had to force Clarey Bates to lie down. The blonde was absolutely dropping, but kept insisting he HAD to stay up to see Edward in.  
"I'm not tired. I'm fine," he'd grumbled, eyes at half mast.  
"You admitted you didn't sleep last night, and yet you worked the whole day through."  
"I'm fine. Edward will want to talk about....things...when he gets back." 

Dieheart in his insistence on waiting.  
And it was only with a promise Kuragin would wait and wake him that Clarey finally allowed himself to fold.  
Leaving Misha alone.  
He turned the pages and tried to concentrate, the scratch of his pen loud in his ears as the clock ticked relentlessly on.  
Just a ghost, he thought. No body, no flesh, just an entity.  
Watching and waiting until Edward came along.

\---

Edward, meanwhile, was taking a rather wandering way home.  
He knew Clarey'd wait up for him, would know in a glance things had gone wrong.  
And he didn't quite want to face up to it yet, until he'd actually worked his way past the attraction that clouded things. Worked his way to what, in the end, was truth.  
As Clarey'd predicted--tonight had told the tale. But it wasn't the happily ever sort.

 

No, this wasn't so much a storybook ending as a puppet show, and he'd been a marionette.  
It had taken Edward this long a time, this much walking around the garden path to come up with how to describe it. He hadn't merely felt pulled along by circumstance. He'd felt as though David himself was pulling strings, trying to make him behave in some predetermined scheme.

Invite him over, knowing his expectations would be high, then invite friends along? (For Robbie'd sidled over to him, revealing they'd been invited... 'too.')  
And what was the purpose of putting them all in an uncomfortable spot like that? What was the need to lie? To tease?

 

Thinking back, David had worked them all like marionettes, keeping them stirred up and drinking, prodding and poking things along. Applauding, cajoling (even threatening) with his tone.  
Coming by with a few glib lines to keep Edward attracted, then leaving him be, thinking the drink would make him too dulled to notice what was going on around.  
And it was only when Edward decided to break away that David seemed irritated.

He didn't care if they had time to talk, time to do 'more.' He just wanted him there, tied by his side, under his control.  
Yes, Clarey was right--  
tonight told the tale.  
Edward had a clear view of things, finally, pushing past the physical attraction to See.

 

Talbot wasn't exactly sure where David had hoped to head with it, what plan he'd had as he pulled the strings. But it didn't seem to come from any sort of feelings of affection.  
And out of all his confusion, Edward was sure of one thing--he didn't want to be a marionette. That wasn't how he thought of love by any means.

So chilled through, but with his mind finally settled, he turned toward the rooms that passed for home.

\---

Misha was still working quietly when Edward entered, concentrating so intently that the creak of his steps on the floorboards startled him. He'd been thinking about the other boy, worrying about him--and it almost felt as though Edward wasn't returning after all,  
but that his appearance was just a continuation of Misha's thoughts & dreams.

And it was only when Edward drew up short, startled himself at seeing Kuragin,  
that he could tell it was reality.  
"What're you--" Edward started at the same time Misha said "Clarey needed---"  
And they stopped, blushing lightly at themselves.  
"Clarey needed to sleep some, since he didn't last night, and I promised to wait until you got safely back."

 

Talbot nodded and seem to be relieved somehow.  
"I'm sorry I'm late. I was done with my errand quite a long while ago, but I needed to stretch my legs a bit. Think."  
"Oh." It was a faint syllable, and Misha hoped he couldn't interpret the feeling behind it.  
(That ridiculous burst of gladness--No long hours with the pillock. No brilliant, witty conversations...or anything more.)  
Still, the slump of Edward's shoulders tempered his joy.  
"The boy didn't prove to be a good friend then? " he said it lightly, as though he didn't suspect anything. "I didn't think he would be."

Catching Edward's slight wince and seeing how tightly he was holding himself, the kindest thing seemed to be ignoring the thing in its entirety.  
So Misha pivoted.

"I've been reading so long, I was just about to raid your cabinet.  
"You'll be impressed to know I've now learned where you keep the tea."  
Edward sighed, "The universal panacea. Just what I need to warm up."

 

And for just a beat of time they stood staring one to the other--just a moment, before Misha shook it off. "I need to wake Clarey, though. He said he wanted to see you when you came in."  
Eyes now to the floor, Edward went past to put the kettle on.  
"You know it's been a long sort of night, and Clarey likes to chat. Perhaps we should leave him sleep."

Misha nodded, following along. And then there was that usual silent dance, as two people work together in one space toward one goal.  
Kuragin was aware of every moment of it, and kept telling himself to stop acting the fool, to stop getting his hopes up, that he wanted to keep these boys as friends, that anything more could never be.

 

Breaking from his thoughts, he looked up in time to catch Edward slightly chuckling.  
"What?"  
"Your shawl. An unusual choice for you."  
And Misha flushed deeply, not remembering until then he'd pulled the silly thing about him.  
"Clarey's mum sent a box...."  
"Ah, biscuits?"  
"Some are left, here I think." And he brushed lightly by Edward, reaching.

"This blue knitted thing, with the patterns was in it."  
"Mrs. Bates does that. Matches his eyes. Clarey's are cornflower. Barrow's are a blue verging on grey. But yours are more ice, so we'll have to go fetch her the right yarns if you want one."

 

"She needn't," Misha started, beginning to explain he'd not expect to step over that line, to have someone's mother take care of him, but then paused...  
"Ice?"  
And Edward blushed.  
"I'm cold then."  
"No, you just don't have...I just noticed, you know. when...." and he realized suddenly he HAD noticed. (All the while he was mooning around thinking of David's lips and dark eyes--brown? black?--he'd noticed Misha's were that odd, piercing shade of blue.)

 

Which made him blush all the more. (Really, I can't control any part of myself.)  
But surprisingly, Kuragin didn't seem to find it odd. In fact, he seemed to be shaking his head and....chuckling.  
(Amazing how a laugh could transform a face.)  
Walking away toward where the kettle had started boiling over and hissing, he simply said over his shoulder, "Well if we get her the blue for mine, for yours we'll have to find the right shade of green."


	9. Chapter 9

-  
-  
-

"I wish the day held more hours," Violet said in a tone more grumpy than romantic, though she meant it romantically enough.  
"Now, Miss Violet," he teased. "Duty calls."  
Johnny Bates stood, giving her a quick kiss as she rose to follow. (Which turned into a bit longer kiss, but they couldn't be denied.)  
"Besides, you have plans at any rate, Letty."  
His voice was a bit breathless with the kissing, and his fingers grazed the curve of her cheek. 

She was a sturdy little thing, his Violet. Competent. Capable.  
And even though he didn't want to leave her side, he knew she'd be better than fine.

 

"An onerous task is not 'plans,'" she continued to grumble, reaching up to fiddle with the knot of his tie. (Brushed his lapels and pushed a bit of hair back from his ears--not wanting to give up that last bit of touching.)

"No, it's not. And mine's not either, but as I said, 'duty calls.'" His voice was low and soothing and kind.  
And with one last buss, one last smile, Johnny left  
and Violet was alone.

\---

But not alone for long, more's the pity.  
Violet's 'plans,' were to go out on the town with her friend Gennie--which would be right enough. However, they'd be accompanied by two young men with titles--which made it a bore.

Violet Talbot had a very definite way of looking about and judging (yes, judging) people and deciding whether she wanted to take time for them or not.  
Titles and money HAD some value to her, but they weren't the end all, be all.  
That was not how she'd been raised.  
"This Goggles fellow sounds like he reckons himself rather grand," Violet muttered, going about pulling things from closets and drawers. "And we have nothing in common except acquaintances, so I don't see why she thinks I'll go cockahoop."

 

Perhaps Gennie didn't, Violet realized. Or rather, she didn't entirely.  
The girl simply thought they'd have a pleasant meal together, and it gave Gennie herself an excuse to be squired about.  
("Be a dear. Trey and I need someone to go with us, or else Googie's just a third wheel. And my mama did so want me to fix him up.")  
Perhaps she hoped they'd hit it off in some way, or come out of it friends. Or perhaps a meal was just a meal.

Violet grumbled under her breath as she went to change.  
"This is a miserable idea."  
Still she squared her shoulders. "But as Johnny said, 'duty calls.'"

\---

Unfortunately for Violet, the show was one of those overly expensive, tawdry extravaganzas that made her head ache. (John would have known to skip it. He would have chosen something superior by far.)  
And the slush of an early March thaw soaked through her shoes.  
So it wasn't an auspicious start to even a casual dinner, where her expectations were already rock bottom low. And then the night went absolutely 'subterranean,' as her escort of the evening took center stage.

Googie Sloane might have been more entertaining to her if she were the type to enjoy vaudeville. For as he started his prattle, Violet judged him a rather poor sort of gag man, a weak second fiddle, all bluster and blow.

 

"Gen's been telling me what great friends you two've become," Sloane boomed, after telling her forcefully to call him 'Googie' and ordering wine for them all without a consult.  
A young darkish man named Trey was squiring Eugenia, though Violet would have to learn his particulars after they'd parted--since Googie kept rolling along.  
First was the name game, as each of them tried to situate themselves into the other's worlds. (And not for the first time, Violet wondered why their set had names such as Googie and Trey...but she couldn't condescend, for their ancient cousin Shrimpie had been a favorite growing up, after all.)

Weaving this web of connections was de rigueur, though Googie was peeling information from her with more intensity than tact.  
Still Violet was somewhat lulled by it, expected it meant a relaxed if pretentious evening discussing shooting or hunts or mutual friends. (Only on closer acquaintance did you tactfully dismember mutual enemies over the entree. And this being their first meeting, Violet had no fear of that happening now.)  
It would be dull, but comfortable enough, given the rules. 

She wouldn't want to be here, but still.....

 

Googie, however, seemed the sort who liked to stir things up, rather than play by anyone's book.  
"I believe I've met your younger brother in passing, though the two of you aren't quite look alikes, what?"  
Violet realized by his tone and waggled eyebrows this was meant as an insult--though whether a dig at herself (having inherited the 'Crawley chin' instead of Edward's handsome good looks) or at her mother's virtue & divorce, she wasn't sure.  
Well, thought Violet, insults were best met head on.

And in a bland, schoolmistress's voice she replied,  
"Ah, well. Appearances to the contrary, we are close sibs. And if you're suggesting we have different fathers--we do not." (She could always parry with a comment about George & second marriages if he called her on it.)

 

Then, as Trey somewhat choked on a bite of food, Violet decided to 'roll on' herself.  
"And where did you meet Edward again? Do you share the same class?" (With her tone, Violet indicated that she was doubtful, not only that he'd share a college class with Edward but also that he might not share the same class in life--heir to a title or no.)

"One of David Winthrop's do's a short time back, though in your brother's case it might've been a 'don't'" Google gave a barking laugh at this example of his wit.  
"Poor lad looked like he should go back to the nursery, standing there idly holding a drink and not making a peep of interest to anyone."  
(They'd made her brother a point of jest? Violet's temper rose.)

 

"I know Edward from a class," Trey said mildly, breaking in for the first time in some alarm, watching Violet begin to puff up for a retort. (She'd kept so lady like, but apparently for family, she'd roar.)  
Her eyes flicking to him without a lowering of murderous intent, Trey gulped a bit convulsively before getting out. "He had the best marks of us all."

And sussing out his gambit, Violet's looked down at the table, then back up at the young man--her expression far more kind.  
"Thank you. Yes, he is the brightest of our lot, and the best rider, too."

 

"Wouldn't take that one as enjoying the hunt," Googie interjected, feeling he'd been somehow left out by not speaking for a few second's time. "No killer instinct at all."

"Point to point," Violet answered, icy politeness restored. " As for the hunt, I'm quite enamored with that, and of course we all shoot."  
Violet gave him her eyes straight on. And with an expression more frequently seen over a gun barrel, she held his eyes until he was forced to look down.

 

Now, this wasn't what Eugenia Haviland had envisioned when she'd arranged things--and the girl felt torn between fascination at what might happen if she let them play this out versus her lifelong training in the hostess's role.  
Training won.  
"My, we'll have to arrange a party sometime together, then," Gennie said lightly, though she could tell Violet would never allow herself to be in the same district as Sloane again, much less the same house for a party of any sort.  
Her friend's likes and dislikes were firmly delineated.  
And this time, truth be told, Gennie agreed--she owed Violet (and Trey) an apology when the evening was done. 

 

How disappointed she was in Googie.  
He'd been perfectly nice when they'd grown up close by, but now he seemed to have become somewhat of a brute.  
Bending bit by bit from circumstance. Growing in the wrong direction over his time away in schools.  
Pity. 

He seemed intent for no good reason on making Violet Talbot miserable--and Gennie wouldn't put up with such as that. (Though Violet, truth be told, could probably squash him.)  
Still.  
Turning apologetic eyes in her escort's direction, Haviland remarked with every tone of polite regret,  
"You know, Trey, I'm getting an absolutely crushing headache. Would you all mind if we call it a night and go?"  
Knowing full well, Trey (and Violet) would not.

\---

Meanwhile, one of the extended family was having SLIGHTLY better luck with his night out, though he, too, was finding someone intent on letting him know his 'place.'  
David Winthrop and Robbie Pelham were making the rounds of things--no formal plan really, just gadding about.

"Well, that was entertaining," Pelham said, somewhat hopefully. He never quite felt sure of himself around David, especially now that their group of friends included Sloane.  
(Sloane--Robbie grimaced at the thought, but pulled himself together; for tonight it was just he and David, two friends out on a round.)  
"Didn't you find it good?"

 

They'd gone to a late show, and now were slouched in a pub nearby, slowly nursing two whiskeys Robbie'd waved over and paid for.  
Disappointingly, Winthrop merely harumphed.  
David had hoped to run into the rest of their group as they went, but so far it was just they two, and the young man wasn't satisfied running such a paltry game.

(Pelham wasn't a bad sort, really. He had a few too many scruples, and Winthrop hated anyone being a wet blanket on the fun.  
Still, he stood them all for drinks more than his fair share, and had funny enough stories to tell about life in the country--taking their jokes about life in the 'shires well enough.)

 

The silence had gone on a bit too long and Robbie was chewing his lip.  
"It wasn't bad," David drawled, earning a dazzling smile from the other boy.  
"It's a shame, though, to waste our time out, just two of us is rather...slow."  
He paused as Pelham's smile dimmed appreciably.  
(It was so easy to push Pelham along, get him to twist.)

David's wealth and acquaintance to influential people didn't give him a sense of contentment.  
Playing with them, seeing how they reacted and to what, Did.  
His father had taught him that, both by example and by experience, and Winthrop was an excellent student...at least when it came to such games.  
(And one day when he'd mastered the skills, perhaps he & his father would finally have a reckoning of their own.)

 

"We should go do something that will amuse the others tomorrow."  
Robbie flinched slightly, then almost sighed with relief as David continued....  
"Hats and scarves on the statues, perhaps?"  
It was a very silly sort of thing, though it did require a bit of thievery as they turned out clothes from other students' rooms to make it a go.  
But no one was harmed, just a bit inconvenienced--far better than some of the pranks he'd been witness to.

"Won't they all laugh to see it when they wake up tomorrow morning?" Robbie said, suddenly exultant.  
And he smiled at his friend, glad again to believe David just exactly what he Wanted him to be--a good sort of fellow, just feeling his oats.


	10. Chapter 10

-  
-  
-

Not everyone, however, had so much free time.

Even in late afternoon and evening, the building where Johnny Bates worked was busy and cluttered.  
Secretaries sat in the center, banging and clattering away at typewriters--  
transcribing letters, filling in contracts, and in general making things run.  
Meanwhile from offices around them, voices filtered over frosted glass transoms as clients met with the men in charge.

 

Of course, Johnny was a simple dogsbody, not 'in charge' of much at all.  
Things to be collected from the printer? Mail to be sorted? Johnny was on it.  
Muscle needed? Tasks of lifting and carrying took up the greatest portion of his time.  
For there were piles of files. Boxes even. And Johnny had to make sure they didn't get high enough to topple over and scatter, losing some document that, in turn, might save a client's life.

It was cleaning the Aegean stables, legal style, this task of moving things from the front to storage on the building's other side.  
And yet Johnny enjoyed it--wandering the place, learning the organization and how the lawyers attempted to meet the clients' requirements. (Exactly what he needed at this point in time.)  
And just as his place at college itself, Johnny had the Crawleys to thank for the opportunity--  
Violet had mentioned the idea to her grandfather, and within the week, Lord Grantham had the boy this job.

 

"Hello, laddo! How're things at school?"  
The office manager, Fred, greeted him with his typical blustering good humor.  
The middle aged dynamo was somehow one of the Crawley's extended web of friends & relations that seemed to cover the countryside getting certain 'favors' done.  
"And how's that other one? The boy who got beat?"

Moorsum's voice lowered on this last bit. He was the manager, not one of the lawyers, so while he 'ran' things, he wasn't any more privy than John was to what went on behind closed doors.  
"He's still not saying," the boy answered, putting a box of forms down. "And classes are fine, though there're never enough hours to read."  
Freddy nodded, agreeing with the complaint, mild as it was.  
"Couldn't do it, myself. Wouldn't want to. But if you hang on, you'll be in one of the offices instead of locked out like me." The older man's teasing tone was evident. (He'd grown fond of Johnny Bates and wanted to steer him right.)

 

Still talking, the manager fell in step and the two walked on.

"Heard something else you might need to keep an eye on, besides that college boy.  
"Theodore Haverby's case was put on the docket last night--so there'll be some trouble for you and your young lady coming on."  
At the man's comment, Johnny blushed. (Embarrassed, but unable to help what the older man guessed.)  
"How can people cause trouble for Violet and her family, when it's Haverby who's the thief?"

Fred tutted.  
"You know how the toffs are--clannish. And the fact that Lord Grantham tossed Haverby out on his ear just before the law moved against young Theo, makes it look like the thing's connected somehow."

 

Johnny muttered. "Of course it would."  
He knew there actually WAS a bit of a connection--what with some of the evidence discovered in Downton. ( But it had been passed along without names, Lady Mary deciding not to ruin the holidays with any sort of 'charge.')  
"Still, don't people realize HE's the one who committed a crime?"

"Sure they do, laddo. And they'll expect him to be punished somehow--though they'd've preferred it done in a way that sweeps the news of it under the rug.  
"Restitution somehow, the right people paid off.  
"But not the docket published in the paper or actual incarceration."

 

"And even the ones what agree to the punishment would still blame the Crawleys a bit for his fall. Traitors to their kind, and so on."  
Freddy absently plucked out a watch and studied it before looking up again with a wink.  
"Of course, I'd fight to my last breath saying Lord Grantham has the right of it, but there's nowt so queer as folk."

And as Moorsum finished with a cheery "Take care," Johnny was left muttering to himself.

(Things weren't always as bright and noble as he'd been raised to believe back in Downton's halls.)

\---

In point of fact, sometimes things weren't noble at all.

 

Lewis Jenson went slowly back up the stairs to his rooms, wanting nothing more than to read his assignments and lie down.  
Keeping 'out of the way' was exhausting--the constant need to keep an eye on who was around, change his path if anyone dangerous came anywhere near.  
Still, if he'd been more alert (more invisible) he wouldn't have had his recent altercation.  
"I let my guard down. It won't happen again."

The young man blamed himself for not staying out of the range of it. He should've seen Sloane roaring into the meadow with his pals, all three drunk from welcoming him 'home.'  
"If I keep away from them, they'll forget again. And surely they'll let me be."

 

So it was in this mood of pessimistic optimism that Lewis approached his door,  
shocked when he found it standing ajar.  
Hand shaking, he approached cautiously into the dark, flipping on the lone light, muttering to himself "What did they do?"

The words came out in a thin little voice. Yet even that noise broke the spell somewhat.  
"It's not too bad," he assured himself, looking around. A stack of books had been tumbled, but nothing else looked out of place.  
"Maybe someone just had to borrow something, and nothing else is wrong?"  
He kept talking to himself, using the sound of his own voice as an anchor.

But he knew no one would 'borrow things' from him these days. (It had been years since he'd let someone so easily wander in and out of his life.)  
"Just someone hungry and needing to nick a bite. Damned thieving idiots."  
(He didn't believe that either. The cabinet with foods looked untouched.)

 

Still on edge, Lewis moved around the space, almost sniffing the air in hopes of a clue.  
The bedroom, perhaps?

Finally nerving himself and going in,  
he could see in a glance what had happened.  
The drawers were pulled, clothing taken.  
"A raid."  
It was a fairly common & harmless prank, though usually not this thorough.  
"Every stitch I've got," he murmured in disbelief.

 

Surely they couldn't've known where HIS rooms were.  
Surely this silliness wasn't TARGETED just to him.  
"It's all right, Lewis," he encouraged himself, trying to buck up. "They're just in for a bit of fun, then they'll leave you be."

His mind stuttered at his own outright lie.  
And suddenly not wanting to sleep, almost afraid to lie down, Jenson pulled himself up to his feet.  
He'd best go out now to find his things around the various quads  
before they were even more damaged than they undoubtedly already were.

"Knickers spiked on the gatepost most likely," he said, gathering his anger like armor. "And all because when I was twelve I told Sloane he couldn't do as he pleased."


	11. Chapter 11

-  
-  
-  
A light mist was falling outside the library window two mornings later, taking the last Serious traces of winter away.  
A tattered scarf remained wrapped around the statue on the main terrace, and not knowing it was stolen, Clarey wondered only how they'd managed it, something so slippery tall. (Also, perhaps, if he threw just right, whether he could get his old cap up there, too.)  
It was March, and they were all over foolish.

 

Beside him, Kuragin sat as calm as a fish, scribbling in his journal, though at what Clarey couldn't imagine. (Knowing his busy appearance was not as it seemed.)  
For every time he thought the other boy pre-occupied, Misha stopped scribbling to let his eyes slide to Edward. A slight fidget and even slighter smile before he pretended to scribble on.  
That made at least a dozen times now since they'd sat there. 

Having now observed this off and on for over a week, Clarey either wanted to laugh or lecture. It was so completely NOT how flirtation was done.

And yet, he thought, at least they'd finally got the gist of it. Now they just had to keep moving along.  
Edward, thinking no one was noticing, took HIS turn at a blush and a glance. (Hmm...almost an even match of times.)

 

\---

Finally feeling Clarey's eyes, Edward looked over and cleared his throat, looked around, then leaned in to speak. "Do you really think there's a need for us to do this?" he whispered.  
'This' was his friend's own attempt at a prank....a response to the latest round of reactions and rumor mongering about the Crawleys.  
"It doesn't hurt anyone, so, yes, I believe we do.  
"Let's see them refuse to speak to us now," Bates continued with a cinema villain's mock leer, pretending to twirl an invisible moustache around.

 

However, since Clarey Bates would never make a villain, his idea was more playful than cruel.  
All three boys had come early to the library and searched out an armload of books absolutely critical to finishing the term's reading. Then they'd sat over in their table by the corner window, with them artfully opened around. 

Of course THEY hadn't waited until so near the end of Hilary term to finish their readings or make their drafts. The three of THEM didn't need the books except as props.  
But to the others, the ones who'd not done anything but drink and sport about, this was the time where hours might count. Where they were finding themselves finally at the point of 'need.'

 

"Such foolishness," Edward scoffed, though he looked more light spirited than he had in weeks. "They'll come to borrow them and we'll have to give over."  
"Ah, but they'll have to ASK, which is the first 'win,'  
and when we give over, they'll either say 'thanks' and cringe for doing it. Or they'll not do what's proper and it'll itch away at them inside."  
Clarey gave his mock leer again. "It's all part of the scheme."

"I believe your idea of a joke's too subtle for me," Misha Kuragin said, but he'd dutifully scattered the texts around.  
(He'd found most of the students ridiculous in their behavior, but none so much as the ones who'd fallen away from these two most recently. If Clarey thought this would tweak their noses, then Misha was game to try.)

 

"Too subtle?" Clarey huffed, both at the notion of him being connected to sublety,  
as well as the thought anything could be too subtle for Kuragin....who seemed to approach things in increments so subtle they could sometimes barely be found.  
"What should I do? Challenge one of these dodgy buggers to a duel?"  
His whisper had increased just a hint in volume at the end of that, and the monitor gave the three a glare. 

Unfortunately, the word 'duel' made Edward start to laugh, and he silently shook with it.  
(For vividly the image came to him of Clarey and David Winthrop dressed as the king's musketeers. And in a smashing Hollywood bit of swordsmanship, surely Clarey would win, hands down.)

\---

 

They passed a quarter hour more of scribbling and glancing, fidgeting and blushing when  
David Winthrop & Googie Sloane arrived on the scene, arrogantly chatting full voice.  
(And, predictably, the monitor found a reason to move to the back and do other business rather than quieting these two grandees.)  
  
"David?" Edward muttered, confused.

 

"He had to come after all, didn't he?" Clarey spoke in the lowest of whispers, but couldn't quite hide the exultation in his tone. "And he doesn't even have your cousin chasing after him. Quite small beer to have only one toady. Quite small beer, indeed."  
All three of them glanced over before looking down and casually flipping a page or two.

"Perhaps Robbie regained his senses." Edward whispered back hopefully--Robbie was family, after all, and even if Talbot didn't much like him, he would never want him hurt.

A few more pages flipped, a few more lines scribbled--  
"And here his 'grace' doth come."  
(Snide comment made, Clarey struggled to keep his face blank, but ended up with a distracted sort of frown.)

 

\---

"Edward. How good to see you."  
Winthrop's voice was rich and seductive as always, warm and dripping with promises Talbot knew he didn't intend to keep.  
"David. Likewise I'm sure. Would you care to join us?"  
This last was exquisitely arch, since only one chair was left, and David would have to leave behind Sloane for the three.  
"Oh, goodness, I'm not staying I'm afraid. But I did wonder if you could help me again? We didn't get done with things that last time out." 

Because Winthrop hadn't lowered his voice to a whisper, suddenly every ear in the place seemed to be listening. However, in his arrogance, he didn't consider that Talbot might not accede.

 

Edward took a breath and started to answer, but Misha managed to cut in first.  
"Right now he's helping me."  
The equally arrogant tone was unexpected, and Clarey had to hide his snort by pretending to drop a pencil and pick it up. 

To his left, Kuragin had suddenly straightened and glared, bringing forth his Russian forebears. There was even an exaggerated hint of an accent--when Misha's voice was usually as English as anyone's around.  
"As offered, though, I suppose you might sit with us and learn. It's a lovely change of pace, the quiet."  
An eyebrow was raised to underscore the smirk.

(And while Clarey wished to 'pile on,' he kept his mouth adamantly shut....his money fully on Misha now.)

 

"I think not," Winthrop said, though two small patches of red rose high on his cheeks.  
The heir of a duke wasn't ever turned down--at least not around here.....until he was.  
(Didn't remember we were sitting with a prince, did you? Clarey thought with something akin to glee...though truth be told, he wouldn't've remembered himself.)  
"As I said, I'm not lingering....here." And he waved around as though it was beneath him, this studious beavering about.

"Pity," Kuragin remarked, then returned to his book, as though dismissing David from his mind.

 

"We'll be in the dining hall later," Edward said, ignoring a slight nudge under the table from Clarey's foot. "If you have a passing question to get back on the right track."

Unable to restrain himself, Clarey rolled his eyes--even given poor treatment, Edward couldn't help but be kind.

"And what if he takes you up on that?" Clarey grumbled when Winthrop moved away.  
"Then we'll have a slightly uncomfortable meal and talk him through whatever has him jammed up, while everyone looks on at him coming to us."

("On bended knee," Kuragin muttered, amused.)

"Hmmm." Clarey grinned, a bit mollified. It might be a win, at that.

 

Then settling back, he began again to count the number of glances from Kuragin to Talbot, and the number of glances Talbot returned.  
Kuragin might know something about making an impression, after all, thought Clarey.  
Riding in on a white horse, and all of that.

\---

 

"Johnny's just a fussbudget," Clarey said, as they lounged about in the rooms a few hours later.  
Having finally become bored with boys coming up red faced to ask for a volume, the trio had come back to sit at their leisure and have tea,  
where they'd found an ominous sort of note from John in their letter box.

As usual, Edward was more inclined to heed the words of caution than Clarey, though truth be told he wasn't worried much that they couldn't handle any problems.  
Hadn't they just faced David down? That alone gave Talbot a glow of confidence, making the warning rather hard to take as seriously as he might have done.  
"I'd say we have Johnny & Violet for dinner to talk about it, but holiday'll be here before we'd ever find the time to gather around.  
"We'll just watch ourselves carefully until we leave."

 

At that comment, Kuragin looked down, taking a bit of a breath lest he sigh.  
He didn't want to think of the time between spring and summer terms. (Usually he stayed in London with his father's second family. Occasionally he'd go to France where his mother's bitter little coterie lived. Neither option was ever appealing, and certainly less so now.)

Edward looked over and caught the other boy's slight change of expression, which in turn clued in Clarey.  
And "You should come home with us," Bates blurted out, not thinking.  
Two sets of eyes looked at him in surprise.  
Though thinking of what he'd said, Clarey warmed to the idea. (Surely that would have been the thing to say to a friend, even if I didn't know it would push them along.)

 

"Misha. With us. My mother would let you stay if you wanted, or I'm sure Edward's granny would have you around."  
It wasn't the most gracious or correct invitation, but at least he'd got it out.  
Then looking at Edward. "Right?" Using a direct stare to nudge him a bit beyond what was comfortable.  
"Of course, right," Edward said, though the tops of his ears had gone a rather deep red and he wished he could give Clarey a good smack right now.  
(On one hand the holiday was entirely too long to be away from Kuragin. On the other, it would have been time to think.)

 

There were several seconds as Misha looked back and forth, back and forth--Clarey to Edward, weighing.  
(It would be a more private location to decide whether to take such a dangerous risk...or whether it was not to be.)

 

And finally, Kuragin took the leap (or allowed himself to be pushed)--  
"If you don't think it would be an imposition, I'd like to see this famous Abbey you two talk about. Though..." and here he looked at Clarey.... "even I know it's up to the ladies to give me an invitation to stay, not you two."  
"I think an invitation could be arranged," Edward managed to get out, as Clarey knocked by his shoulder, strutting a bit to the kettle to heat his tea.

(And he stood with his back to his friend a few moments, trying not to look too very amused. Knowing that Edward would end up happier for this change of things....once he'd come round.)


	12. Chapter 12

-  
-  
-  
The newspaper was on Edward's bed as he finished collecting things for the small leather bag he'd carry by hand.  
His trunk had gone off in advance, of course. Clarey's, too, along with a third filled so heavily with books that the man had to be paid twice to ease the boy's conscience.

"Aren't you ready yet?"  
Now there was an unusual occurrence. While Clarey was always awake first, he was rarely the first one finished. But, of course, he was anxious...Johnny's warning proven right.  
"Made the first page, then."  
He moved around and picked up the newspaper, seeing the headline with Haverby in it.  
The picture a smudged, inky blur that, un-ironed, left a stain on his hands.

 

"Mmm....I'm taking it on to my mother. She'll want to see it, even though they get the London papers. This one, however," Edward grimaced. "Is a bit more low brow than she'd ever have for the house."  
"I'll say," Clarey whistled just slightly through his teeth as he paged through, pausing a bit over the more lurid captions. "You know, though, it's really NOT our concern, even if we helped push things along ."  
(Bates' tone was defensive for once, when he'd usually crow their successes,  
and his friend nodded soothingly as he continued tucking things neatly away.)

"Barrow said they'd come for a statement from mama, and she'd told them that-- she knew nothing more, and it wasn't her concern."  
(When he'd called to ask about Kuragin coming, he'd learned that much if little else.)

Clarey, though, stood frowning down at the blurry newsprint image. If he could have boxed Theodore Haverby about the ears, he would have done, for making things so complicated.  
(Bates, a boy who revelled in complications, still felt this--protectiveness coming to the fore.)  
"And we don't, Clarey. Truly, we can't add any details they don't already have-- not us, not Dolly.  
"Things will be fine at Downton. You'll see--you needn't look so grim." 

 

Edward said it calmly, finishing fussing with his bits and bobs.  
And, knowing his friend needed a distraction,"Worry more about how you'll smooth the way for Misha on a train...with Violet."  
To Edward, THAT was a concern of no small proportions. A true interrogation.  
And while he was making a joke of it,  
it would be the first major hurdle they'd face.

 

For even though it felt like they'd known Kuragin forever, he was actually a new player on the stage. And new people allowed to Downton must be 'examined,' Talbot knew.  
("Kuragins knew your family generations ago," Clarey'd said back when he first pointed out the deep pool into which his friend had thrown them.  
"And they haven't spoken much since, have they? Neither had we, even in the same college, until you had your scheme for faffing about.")

And now,  
"Phht. Violet'll like him. Once she pokes and prods a bit, they'll be kindred spirits. You know as well as I do, she's not THAT frightening of a girl."  
Refolding the paper and scrubbing his hands on a handkerchief, Clarey considered the matter settled while, reflexively, Edward rolled his eyes. No worries then.  
(Right you are, he thought with sarcasm, not relief.)

 

"Well, at least we can put the Haverby mess away for a while," he said, doing just that with the newspaper. Carefully tucking it to the side, where he hoped it wouldn't soil his things.  
And finally, ready to depart, Edward snapped the satchel shut--  
for at least the moment everything tidily organized in his world.

\---

They met Misha as they did frequently now, entering the archway outside their rooms. Perfect timing.  
(How had they not managed to be inexorably pulled together, in and out of each other's doors the year before?)  
Nodding, the three of them walked to the Lodge without needing conversation--backs straight, eyes ahead. The last two weeks had been difficult, with the whispers & glares again, but not as difficult as their enemies would have liked....together (now three instead of two) against the world.

 

"The taxi should be there waiting for us," Kuragin finally said in a voice that sounded Almost cheerful.  
"Odd to see so few people about."  
Clarey said this last bit, feeling around in his pocket for the Porter's two half-crowns--an awkward thing for Bates to give a tip, but quite deserved by the man.

"Scarcely any 'notices,' too," Misha replied, using his chin to point toward the green baize board that was usually chockablock with news of meetings & sports.  
"Makes it look like an ordinary place, without the bustle." 

Edward pulled his jacket a little closer around, since, though it was spring, the wind still had the memory of frost in the early morning.  
He shivered. "I can't say I'm unhappy, though, to be away for a while." Then more ironically, "won't much miss the whirl."

\---

The porter's lodge & main gate were so empty their footsteps echoed.  
Between the hours, even the bells were still.  
"Keep an eye on things for us, will you, Collins?" Edward said as the Porter himself came to see them off.  
It felt to Edward as though he was tranferring some weight of responsibility off his shoulders onto another's.  
(Though, of course, that was ridiculous. For what responsibility did he truly have in this college's world?)

"Don't I always, sir?" the man questioned back, jokingly,  
discreetly taking the money each boy handed him with mutual murmurs of thanks.  
In truth, he'd kept these young men out of more scrapes than they'd known about or ever imagined. In the way of staff everywhere, there were favorites, and Talbot & Bates were two.  
"And keep that one out of trouble back home," Collins said, winking at Clarey, who widely grinned back.

 

Meanwhile, Misha had moved beyond them and stood close by the taxi, impatiently shifting from foot to foot.  
His father had understood that young men sometimes didn't come home for holidays, and had accepted the thing. But even in that acceptance, Kuragin felt a loss.  
One never felt as safely and securely bound to anyone, to any location, as one did to family and childhood home.  
And yet here in Loss, happily enough he stood. (Perhaps, he thought, perhaps there now could be a second sort of life, and  
someone to whom he'd not just be bound, but truly 'belong.')

However, it was too overwhelming a thought for now, a far bigger leap than just taking a taxi and visiting a friend's home.   
So Misha pushed aside that corner of his mind that held such foolish things as 'hopes.'  
And to keep his nerves down, focused on minutiae--taxis, timetables, trains.

 

"You'll make us late, after all of this," he nattered as Bates came up, still grinning and out of breath.  
"Never. You'll see." Clarey looked back at him, cheeky. "I've got luck on my side, always, don't you know?"  
(The sunny blonde believed this. Relaxed, long limbed, loose.)

So Misha nodded, allowing himself to be soothed by the other boy's untouched confidence.  
"You DO seem to be the luckiest fellow I know."  
"Hmmm....I think we're ALL quite lucky on the face of things," Edward added, settling in beside them on the seat. "Today, at least, everything seems to be going right."  
(Which, given the worried voice that usually chittered in the back of Talbot's thoughts at any given moment, was quite a brave show of confidence indeed.)

 

"Yes, Edward's correct" agreed Clarey cheerfully. "It'll all be right. I guarantee."  
And as the taxi made an abrupt turn, sliding them into a tangle of arms and legs and embarrassed amusement,  
none of the three felt there was any reason to question the matter further.  
In that moment at least, letting go of worries, they were the luckiest three mates in the world.

\---

 

Meanwhile,  
behind them, of course, they left others who weren't so lucky.  
In particular Googie Sloane,  
who would stay in the small town now abandoned by almost all students.  
(His parents assumed, after all, the tutors could bend their schedules to the needs of the Sloanes, and thus, left their son there reading until They needed him on some other impromptu adventure.)

And Lewis Jenson,  
who just for a week was on his own again, while Johnny Bates ran up and back for a brief family visit in the north.

Odd to think how dependent he was on the thought Bates was down the hall from him, studying. Neither one liked the other, yet Bates was a bright spot and Lewis was looking forward to his (quick) return,  
since it brought a tiny bit of courage to  
his otherwise bleak world.


	13. Chapter 13

-  
-  
-

The countryside was flying by the train windows at an alarming rate, but the five young people were letting it do so unawares. Activities closer at hand had their attention gripped.

In particular, Violet glared at Mikhail Kuragin, stared at him, tried to pin him like an insect to a board.  
They'd shared barely a dozen words in the first hour of the trip, what with getting tickets and trains sorted.  
(Chat about the weather, mainly,which didn't help her form an opinion at all.)  
But finally NOW she'd arranged things and was sitting across from him,  
studying him with her eyes.

He tilted his head slightly, and she tilted hers, too, intent that he couldn't move away from taking her Look staight on.  
"So you prefer Misha?"  
"Yes."  
Just the one syllable as he calmly hid behind a face held perfectly blank.

 

His hair was just a little longer than fashionable, a few strands of it falling carelessly across his forehead.  
Clothes tidy and worn a bit, though in a way that made the things look better for the mellowing.  
A hint of something spicy for cologne, not the citrus scent she'd grown accustomed to from the Downton males.  
Very different, this one, she decided as she continued her examination.

"One," she said, smartly placing her card down and waiting for a replacement to come.  
"One," Misha agreed, handing it over.  
"I'll take two."  
He was good at this, but she was better.  
After all, how did one fill hours in a country home? Edward had his books, but Violet--though bright--couldn't always be bothered by reading or watching planes go by.  
So off and on, here and there, she played cards.

 

"You're bluffing, Mister.....Misha."  
Her voice was calm and measured, and she intentionally flared her nostrils a bit and turned her lips into a smirk, projecting the image of 'Invincible' (along with unreadable.)  
Beside her, Clarey folded.   
"Drat it, Violet.  
"I should've remembered how you are."

"Been spending too much time on those dusty engravings of yours and Edward's"  
Her gaze flicked for only a second over to John's brother, before flicking back.  
"And your new friend, here."

 

Misha Kuragin glared back at her, but there was a hint of something (what? amusement?) behind the gaze.  
Violet would have to squelch that with all due speed.  
"Who puts a good face forward, but I'm guessing's not the confident young man he seems."  
Oddly, her joke made Kuragin's eyes go flat, emptied of emotion.  
Not the GOOD sort of flat (gamesmanship acknowledged), but a true, painful sort of flat she'd not expected to find.

"I..." she hesitated, confused, but..  
"Phht," Edward made a rude, childish sort of noise--for a rarity pulling attention to himself.  
And leaning over to take an obvious look at his friend's hand, said,  
"Looks like he's lucky to me."

 

Violet couldn't help an indulgent snort of amusement.  
It was good to see Edward & Clarey have a friend outside of one another. They'd been finishing each other's sentences for far too long.  
"Unfair, child. Two against one."  
Though when she looked back to pin Kuragin again with her glare, she was relieved to see the light once more 'on' in his eyes.

(Yes, she thought. I think I just might approve.)

\---

An hour later Violet walked down the car to the lavatory, leaving the 'boys' by themselves.  
"Misha, she just...." Edward started, hoping to apologize.  
"I found her quite entertaining," his friend returned smoothly. "And when you meet my family, you'll understand why your sister isn't a problem.  
"Not at all."

"Mother?" Clarey guessed.  
"My grandmother," Kuragin said. "My great grandparents came here with almost nothing, but gran helped build the family back up in spite of the slump and war.  
"I'm rather used to women being...forces of nature."

 

"Well, Violet's too young to play matriarch," John said. "But you're right to think she's not Only the frills and frippery sort...though she likes those things, too."  
They mulled it over, nodding somewhat.  
"And yet she still could've done things a bit softer, what with you a guest," Edward insisted, though he was smiling himself. "Not treated you like a third brother."  
"Fourth," amended Clarey. "I get the rough treatment, too. May as well count me."

Taken aback, Misha marvelled a moment--by treating him to her fiercest glares, her sharpest card-sharpery, Violet had allowed him to earn a Badge of Honor he hadn't been aware of at the time.

"Welcome...you now 'belong,'" John summed it up complacently, and then was left slightly agape at the brilliance of Kuragin's smile.

\---

Mile after mile, the train was moving on up the track,  
rhythmically rocking them toward Downton, everything cozy and peaceful and safe.  
Making college seem far, far away and the term a greater relief  
to be done.

 

"This term took forever to finish," Clarey said as though they were all thinking with the same brain. "Dealing with those daft idiots took too much energy."  
"And I've only the one week's time before I go back," John replied, reaching over to where they'd stored their bag of treats.

"NOT the thing to dwell on," Violet murmured as she came and sat closely by, leaning her shoulder in.  
(Idly he handed her half a biscuit he'd filched from the luncheon sack.)  
"Though I will say I'm glad--at least--to have that."

 

The tempting crinkle of paper continued, as Clarey took over the bag's possession.  
And while pilfering he told Misha, "Much better than last trip down.  
Last time, the love birds were having a tiff."  
"Clarey," the girl frowned.  
"Violet," he grinned back.  
("She's cranky, but she's ours," Clarey said sotto voice, causing his brother to chuckle.  
"Well, YOURS mainly, but ours in the greater sense.")

 

"'Great' is a word that's fitting," Misha said, looking at Violet and letting the corners of his mouth tilt up again.  
"Ah, your flattery's nice, but ineffective," she said,  
(surprised & pleased though she'd never show it.)  
"You'll not get back the six pence you lost  
so easily from me."

\---

Meanwhile, at the North end of the tracks,  
another young woman was wondering at what  
changes the month might bring.

 

Dolly Parker was sitting in the window of the Carson Cottage pretending to read.  
Her thinking was muddled, and she'd spent the day going about her duties by reflex.  
True, the breakfast got served, the dishes washed, and the customers seen about,  
but not with Dolly's usual charm and bright efficiency.

Clarey Bates was due to arrive back home this evening, and  
Dolly was uncertain how to feel.

 

The girl had not thought herself the type to have her head turned by a pretty face--which was how the boy struck her, all these years passing each other by.  
Indeed, her only experience with young men at all was walking out with a village boy who looked to have a bit more ambition that the rest.

Dolly'd always preferred ambitious to playful, dark to blonde. And yet...  
The letters Clarey'd sent her had been serious enough, intelligent enough, thoughtful enough.  
(And she could get used to his handsome appearance.)

 

Yes, Dolly Parker was uncertain exactly how to feel about Clarey,  
but the thought of him coming home between terms certainly had her....  
Interested? Wondering? Thinking?  
It had her both nervous, yet made her smile.


	14. Chapter 14

-  
-  
-

"The youngsters got in, then?"  
Joe's voice was roughened by sleep and the springs creaked as he rolled over.  
Thomas was just finishing taking off his butler's jacket and hanging it carefully by.  
"They did."

The pants were next, neatly and quickly placed over the back of the wingchair. (Socks, shirt, vest: a ritual unvarying. A show Joe still couldn't help but watch.)  
"George & Liz back from hospital early. Sybbie & Daniel up for dinner and drinks to welcome the wanderers back.  
"All of them, all at once. It was quite the rumpus. Clarey Bates clattering and clacking along. Talked more than the rest of them, combined."  
Joe chuckled, imagining the scene.

 

"Glad you survived, intact."  
He watched the butler's profile in the bedroom's pale moonlight, thankful they had a few hours at least.  
"Hmpf." Thomas grumbled as he slid under the cover and began to push the pillow around to nest. "So am I."  
"Though you're happiest when they're all there racing about you."

Which caused him to pause and admit, "Course I am...Still, not enough time in the day, is it?"

"At least time enough to give us a proper kiss."  
And it was a satisfying few minutes interruption in the conversation before Thomas settled back with a sigh.

 

\---  
"They're back and everyone's perfectly safe," Joe guessed, feeling the other man's muscles relaxing as he brushed over them with the warm palms of his hands.  
"Mmm, yes."  
"You see, you worry too much-- trying to keep track long distance. It's unnecessary."  
A slight kiss to take the sting out of the criticism.  
(A whispered endearment, "My beautiful, foolish man.")

 

"Mm, might not be worrying enough," Thomas countered.  
Still, he enjoyed the moment a bit, moving to turn and fold them both together in their usual, comfortable way.  
"The two of them so young they can't even see."  
He shook his head. "Hard to fathom I was ever THAT young."  
("Phht. Still young," Joe kissed his shoulder and tightened his hold.)

 

The slight smell of outdoors Thomas had carried in was dissipating as his body warmed.  
Joe breathed in the familiar scent of brilliantine & peppermints, a hint of sweat behind the soap & polish.  
And his next little nip-- in a particularly vulnerable spot near Thomas's neck--made Barrow agreeably hum.  
Miller could manage to sleep without Thomas in the bed, of course; it was an ordinary circumstance. However, it was so much more pleasurable to sleep when he was with.

\---

"The new one though? He IS actually more than a friend ?"  
They were both tired, but this was a critical point Joe HAD to ask before they tipped over to actual 'sleep.'  
Edward hadn't been specific over the telephone, but Thomas had suspected as much from his general tone.  
"Could you tell? Were we right or wrong?"

 

A slight sound of exasperation, then,  
"I don't know how the rest of them are missing it. Edward might as well wear a sign. They weren't touching, of course, but he keeps looking over and getting a sort of...glow.  
Miller chuckled at his annoyed description of young love.  
"It's not funny. Innit....Poor child wears his heart on his sleeve--Which certainly isn't safe."  
  
But Joe wasn't having it.  
"Safe enough. The rest will only see what they're looking for anyway.  
"And it's nice your boy's happy, right?"

 

Satisfied that all was well,  
Miller reached to pull up the quilts and blankets. Even though it was spring, the nights were chilly.  
"You worry too much and work too hard, you fussbudget," he tutted, reaching up to card his hand through Barrow's hair, muss him and kiss him one last time.  
And both of them murmured their 'goodnights.'

The silence grew heavy for a bit as they started drifting off,  
a comfortable couple well used to the feel of each other after years by each other's side.  
Then,  
"I'm glad WE'RE happy," Thomas said in just a bit of a whisper.  
"I know you know that. But I don't say it enough of the time."  
(The comment hung there in the darkness. Breathless, waiting.)

 

"You say it," Joe murmured back.  
"Should say it more."  
"Mmm," Joe breathed in his ear, the sleepy noise now one of agreement,  
followed by a smile.

Then he laced his fingers through Barrow's.  
and, even after falling to sleep,  
they refused to let go.


	15. Chapter 15

-  
-  
-  
The fortunate side to having a large family dinner the night before was that Edward hadn't had to face Misha alone.  
George, bless him, was so filled with plans for the wedding and life with Liz that he practically overflowed.  
Sybbie, who had never met anyone without finding his 'good side,' was on Misha's right, smiling and chatting away.  
Even his uncle and mother seemed exhuberant to such an extent that Edward caught Violet surreptitiously eyeing the wine glasses to see how much they'd imbibed. (A raised eyebrow in his direction, a shake of her head indicated that wasn't the cause.)

Everyone was simply...happy.  
(It might be slightly common of them to show it so vividly, but there it was.)  
And after the last few gloomy winter months surrounded by untrusted people, Edward found it all a bit overwhelming.  
Try as he might through dinner, all he could do was keep a silent eye on things and  
smile.

 

"So, Mikhail, your great grandfather visited us years ago. He was quite a charming man."  
Granny wouldn't let Misha sit silently, of course--the consummate hostess trying to make sure everyone got his chance to shine.  
"I know the families have met before," Misha replied, voice carefully neutral.

"We have things from Russia around here from when my parents visited your family.  
Perhaps Edward can have them brought down some afternoon."  
This cheerful suggestion came from Donk, of course, and it was a good one. Edward hadn't considered how long the days might seem to someone not used to a country house.  
(Still, their expectant eyes had him worried--Misha wasn't talkative by nature, and they seemed to want him to....)

"You have a relative named Lady Rose, I believe," Misha rallied, bringing forth delighted nods.  
"My grandmother still writes to her sometimes, though I was unaware of the connection until I telephoned about coming here."

 

"How wonderful that they've kept in touch," Cora said.  
"How wonderful she was to my family, in times that weren't so kind."  
Edward looked over, back and forth between his granny and Misha, as the old woman updated him on Rose's family news.  
Well. His silent Russian could be courtly.

He'd seen a hint of it on the train with Violet, of course. But apparently with grandmothers, 'Mikhail' was going to be quite the star.  
"Good job, him," Violet said, softly leaning over with a bit of a smirk.  
And his mother nodded down the table, too.  
(But all Edward could do in reply was...  
smile.)

\---

Of course, dinner couldn't last forever, his family couldn't surround him forever.  
Barrow there, a pillar for his support.

Now it was a new day dawning, and Edward was on his own.  
First things first, he thought: just play it as he ordinarily would, which meant a tramp around outdoors.  
(And hope being on his home pitch helped him out.)

\---

"The greenhouse is so full of things," Misha said, in a bit of wonder as they entered the small, warm world.  
Of course, Edward wanted to check with Sam, straightaway. The old man had sent Jimmy and Teddy off for a few weeks, since they weren't needed (perhaps not wanted?) at the house party, fiddling with the guests.

"You've seen greenhouses before in the city," he said, giving a self deprecating shrug.  
"But not like this. It's small, but here's such variety, almost overflowing, and..." Misha instantly fell silent as Mr. Samuelson approached from the back.

 

"About time, young Talbot. Where's your other half?"  
"Clarey's running errands for his mother." (And, undoubtedly, making sure to stop by somewhere else.)  
Edward didn't say the last, of course, though Clarey would tell the old man everything over time.  
"Sam, this is Misha. Misha, this is Sam."

It would probably've been better to formally introduce them. More polite. More proper.  
Still, Edward didn't even consider the matter.  
These were his friends. Therefore, they would be on friendly terms with one another, just by default.  
"Misha. Little bear. I knew a Misha a very long time back," Sam nodded under bushy eyebrows.  
"So, do you know how to help or do we need to teach you where to start?"  
There wasn't even a question of acceptance, Edward thought gratefully. He'd brought Kuragin in, and he'd be treated as one of them.

 

"I'll help him until gets the hang of it," the boy promised, turning to his friend, "The plants here are special. Some of them by value, but all of them by history."  
"However, beginners are forgiven mistakes, as long as they only happen one time," Sam said, trying to hide his kindness by curtly nodding toward the back, then limping off with a cane by his side.  
Edward grinned, understanding.

And without thinking, reached out to tug a bit at Misha's sleeve to urge him along.  
"Wait'll he starts in with stories. Though I'm not entirely sure how much of them he makes up."  
A slight, light huff of laughter, and the day started on.

\---

Clarey, meanwhile, was actually more nervous than his usually reticent friend.  
He'd walked by the Carson Cottage at least three times, having completed his 'official' errand elsewhere in the first half hour.

Finally, on the fourth pass, Mrs. Hughes was waiting on the step.  
"Clarey, I've something for you to take back to the big house for Mr. Barrow if you won't mind."  
The old lady turned slowly to make her way back through the door,  
holding a bit to the frame yet managing to keep her posture straight.  
And Clarey, of course, could do nothing else but (gratefully) comply.

 

"Sit a bit, won't you? Dolly can get you some tea while I find it.  
So fortunate that I saw you passing; it'll save me a trip."  
And hiding her smile, Mrs. Hughes pointed to a seat in the front room and went away in the back for a while.

 

"So...you've returned," Dolly said, bringing a tea cup and a plate covered with a small mountain of sweets.  
"Late last evening," he said, adding "ta."  
"Ah, well, that's...good," she said, not adding that she'd seen the group go past,  
watching her true job with only with one eye.  
"I'm not sure the scones are up to our usual standard. Yesterday was a bit challenging."

"Lots of customers?"  
"Not too very many, no."  
She didn't follow up on it, and the silence fell rather dead on their shoulders.  
"I appreciated the books you sent," Dolly tried next. (There were reasons for manners and formalities, after all. They got one over the hump.)

 

"Didn't know what you'd like, but I threw some more things in the trunk of books we brought home. That way we can find you all sorts to read.  
"Aren't you able to have some tea yourself?"  
This amiable suggestion had a practical purpose, for as much as Clarey was salivating to try the baked things in front of him, he was attempting to be on 'good behavior.' And to gorge oneself whilst a girl stood empty handed felt...wrong.

"Seems as though I might," Dolly answered.  
And the spell was broken. Sitting over two cups of tea, after all, was something quite comfortable and ordinary.  
(And it's only Clarey Bates, Dolly reminded herself. You don't even like him that much....except some voice in the back of her head replied, "maybe Now you do.")

\---

Back on the estate, Edward & Misha were keeping busy with more practical matters.  
"The fencing around the grave seems solid, though I see what had Sam worried about the latch on the gate."

One of the assistants had driven the gardener around to the outlying areas, including the grave on the hill where his great grandfather was laid to rest.  
"He must have been quite an interesting man, choosing to be out here, alone."  
Misha walked the fence's boundary, looked below them where the Abbey stood like something out of a painting, sniffed the air and enjoyed the hint of spruce.

 

"Well, you know I'd rather go to feed the roses when I'm gone, but he was more the Egyptian sort--leaving a statement even in death. Ruler of His Domain.  
"Never met him or my great grandmother, but stories about that generation....live on."  
Edward couldn't help chuckling. As much as Donk might paint his parents as mainstays of aristocratic society, his impression was more they'd had quite the rousing lives.  
"Most country people now live lives like gentlemen farmers, but that generation seemed to be far more unsettled, travelling about."

 

"Russia," Misha nodded.  
"Russia, Europe, Egypt, India... HE was in Australia a bit--fascinating stuff in the old journals.  
"And even though I don't think they made it over to the States, my granny's parents lived there. So between them all, they spanned the globe."  
"It makes our lives quiet by comparison," Misha said, seriously.  
"Smaller," Edward said. "Feeding the roses, instead of building monuments."

 

But it was much too serious a thought, and Talbot shook off the mood of age and melancholy surrounding them.  
They were two young men in their prime, not in danger at all. The wars were finished and medicines improving.  
"Still pleasant enough lives, though."  
And he went to stand shoulder to shoulder with Misha, pointing out in various directions as he told him about the lands on which they stood.

\---

"The poetry was unexpected," Dolly said, having moved her chair around by his shoulder to pour.  
"I didn't think they'd have you reading things in that direction, so modern like."

"That was just something I thought you'd enjoy," Clarey replied, stuttering a bit over the admission. "Though we've piles of literature, too, and most of it good."  
"Not modern, though," she said, dimpling. 

"No, I can't say the old men teaching us are forward thinkers. Or at least they probably are, but afraid to share it with such as us."  
He'd finished the food and two cups of tea, and was pleased to have warmed to the conversation.

 

They'd touched on a few bits of silliness he'd seen back south. ("So foolish those boys to waste time, when they're lucky to be in school.")  
And they'd touched on enemies. ("They shouldn't cut the Crawleys for what went on. They should praise them for figuring out those other folk weren't what they seemed.")  
Now they were down to pleasantries, which were...pleasant...but Clarey was wondering where Mrs. Hughes had got off to collecting items for him to carry back.

 

"Do you think she's all right?" Clarey said, lowering his voice so much that Dolly had to lean in to hear him. "Not to suggest anything, but being older, mightn't she need help?"  
Forehead almost touching him, breath somewhat ticklish around his ear, Dolly giggled and blushed.  
"I think she's fine."  
The girl leaned back, though, actually patting his arm a bit, like one would a naive sort of child.  
"I'll go see what's got her held up."

\---

"We mustn't hold them up from what they're doing, of course, but I'm afraid I'm rather used to creeping around downstairs where I don't belong."  
Edward had brought Misha in the servants hall entrance--again without thinking, then realized he was coming up on an age where such things were no longer done.  
(It made him feel sad, somehow, the idea of things changing. The major changes in the boy's past had usually NOT been good.)

 

"How can you not belong in your own home?"  
Misha's voice was low and held that same tempting hint of amusement.  
"I know what you mean, of course, which is why my father thinks I'll be the curse of my family name. Still....I've always felt the people below stairs accepted me more than my family on top, other than gran."

 

That was mainly true for Edward, too.  
"Mmm...then you'll like Barrow. Which is good.  
"And you'll want to meet Mrs. Parker, who makes sure we get what we like to eat, rather than what we're supposed to.  
"And maybe tomorrow we can go out to the tenancies and see her husband... They're out beyond Sybbie's place.  
"Or maybe the village shops to meet some friends we have there."

 

Realizing he'd run on a bit, Edward blushed and stopped. Embarrassed.  
But looking over, he realized Misha was now not only faintly amused, but smiling--the true, too-fleeting smile that lit up his face, before it fled.  
"First your Barrow. From what Violet said on the train, he's the dragon loyally guarding the castle."  
Edward huffed, knowing they'd both already been under the butler's scrutiny. (And hadn't he greeted the man first, after the family was done?)  
Still, better if Misha thought this was the first 'introduction.'

"Yes, I suppose that is the way of it. Though a friendly enough sort of dragon," the boy laughed.  
"I'm sure he's going to like you...and you'll like him as well."


	16. Chapter 16

-  
-  
-

They were being wasteful, Violet supposed.  
Years of rationing made her conscious of that, though her general sensibilities did not.  
Windows open whilst a Fire was going. Food piled on a table waiting for two, which six could comfortably eat.  
Flowers even, carried up where no one but themselves would see.  
Still...simple indulgences.  
And they deserved a bit of waste, a bit of extra joy.  
Johnny had far less time than the others, and Violet was already mourning his absence while he stood there at her side.

It was their tower room, of course, with a fresh breeze making promises the last days of March could never keep.  
The sun, too--streaming in on all sides as though June was already here.  
(A fool's paradise, this moment, when she'd soon be back with rainy April days and Johnny gone.)

 

"I keep expecting to see green on the larches, even though it's too early," Violet said, idly looking through their outpost's window. Her tone was even and her gaze level on the distant trees.  
"A few more weeks," Johnny comforted, coming behind to wrap his arms around.  
"It'll be greening up for the wedding, warm of a spring as we've had." 

She tried to keep her breathing steady, think of a calm, rational reply about George's plans, but what came out was a whispered "Wish you didn't have to go."  
(Damnable emotions, Violet thought. She despised herself for being weak.)  
Johnny, however, didn't tease her. "Me, too," he murmured into the her hair, as he leaned in to land a kiss. "I've still got a few days, though, and I actually NEED to get back this time."

 

She wasn't angry. Truly.  
At Christmas, they'd had a disagreement over the job (which she'd first arranged for him, then came to despise.) And they'd settled the matter.  
So it wasn't anger, it was just a weak-willed feeling of not wanting to be apart.

Turning, wrapping her arms about his waist, she...glared at him.  
"That silly boy wouldn't take the help, so why do you think he 'needs' you now?"  
(Burying her face against his chest she murmured, "I need you." However, this time low enough that he couldn't hear.)  
"Have to be there, once I've offered, now don't I? 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'"

 

"Blasted Burke," Violet grumbled more loudly. "I agree, and yet I don't want to."  
And pushing him back a ways, she moved to stir the fire.  
"Given everything that happened back in Normandy, I think you've done your share for the rest of your life."  
He smiled, though not entirely agreeing. 

"That was years ago now, and a law office is certainly safe enough not to give you worries."  
His rich chuckle surrounded her, comforted her, though she didn't want to be comforted yet.  
"No one ever's done helping, Violet. You wouldn't respect me if I just sat back."  
To which she nodded, but didn't look behind when his footsteps came closer.

 

"And one day it'll be OUR wedding, not George's, that everyone's fretting about."  
He made her turn around then,  
wrapped her in his arms until he felt her relax.  
(Yes, then we'll have the rest of our lives, she thought.)  
"Won't be that long....unless you want throw logic to the wind and run off to Gretna Green tonight." Johnny's chuckle again, and a tone of....dare?

"And I call you sensible," she huffed, (though she kissed him and was really quite tempted to let logic fly.)  
"'Not long' still feels 'too long,' you know."

\---

Meanwhile below them, walking the path out to Matthew's bench,  
Lady Mary & Tom Branson moved steadily along.  
It was sunny enough to pull them away from the books...though of course, only for a few hours. (Mary, especially, demanded everything balanced, and Tom agreed they should try.)

The business man's usually lighthearted voice was raised in serious debate as they rounded the corner.  
"Given what happened over Christmas, do you still think you're right about the two of them?"  
He tilted his head to the tower without lifting his eyes, knowing where the two young people would be found.

 

He'd been hit unexpectedly hard by Haverby's insults toward Sybbie's family.  
Branson had faced down insults HIMSELF over the years, of course, even the one grand conflict over dinner with Larry Grey. And even though he'd tried to run away from the sneers and judgments,  
he'd come back.  
Now, though. Seeing his own daughter caught in the middle,  
Tom wondered if he should have been so "brave" about staying at Downton.

 

"Violet'll face even worse, you know. Out away from where the family can help.  
"Even if my darling Sybbie refuses to be afraid, I'll admit I'm sad on her behalf, and afraid for Violet."  
It was an odd day when Branson's voice was so deeply serious, odder still when he tried to persuade Mary it might be better to run than fight.

Gently, she patted his arm, "That's the crux of the problem, isn't it? Fear?  
"She's more afraid to be without him than afraid of what they'll face with.  
"And Violet's not a child, Tom, if she ever WAS. I don't see getting left off some invitations-- or facing down some blustering fool like Haverby--changing her mind. "

 

That said, Mary took hold of him more firmly, making as her excuse a long step over a puddle on the path.  
(How wonderful if all problems were so easily overcome.)  
She let the silence gather a bit around them, some birds calling, the sun doing its job.

Finally, though,  
"Besides John's intending to pursue law, and after time passes he'll simply blend in to the crowd." (Mary worried, Was it too tactless to suggest Sybbie's husband would never be able to do that?)  
"Especially in London, where the hostesses don't follow the rules so stringently.  
"Not out in the county where people have memories of grudges generations back."

 

At Tom's snort, she insisted,  
"You might mock, but Edith was just on about it in a letter to mama. Some boy making a fool of her Robbie, blaming some old feud with us."  
"Doesn't that make my point, though?" Branson asked, becoming serious again. "I might think it an over exaggeration to think in terms of actual feuds, but people do like to attack.  
"Shouldn't we explain to Violet & John that they ought to re-consider how things TRULY are?"

(It had shaken him, she realized. But talking to the children wouldn't do any good.)  
Mary grimaced. "After all this time? The ship has sailed, and they'll have to face whatever stormy weather's in their path."

 

So, having brought up and bashed about one problem, they moved on to another.  
(As one by one, bit by bit they made their plans and decisions,  
walking down the same path they'd shared for decades now, and would  
continue to share for life.)

\---

And inside, the older generation also were discussing the young people.

"Did you telephone Rose about the boy?" Robert asked without looking up.  
He was busily finishing a sort through his mail, finding nothing pressing at all.  
(These days, Lord Grantham "wasn't doing very much...but doing it very well.")

 

"I did, darling. Just this morning," Cora said, coming by and dropping a kiss on his cheek before settling on the couch.  
"She can't come down, with Lord Sinderby so ill, but she sends her love. And you know Rose--so excited to hear that we had Mikhail for a guest.  
"I now know more about the Kuragin rise from ashes than I really need."  
Cora exclaimed, "Rags to riches. My mother would have been so very impressed."

 

"And you?" Robert asked, laying aside his envelopes and coming to sit next to her.  
"I'm impressed he's such a nice young man. I just wish he were Violet's guest instead of Edward's, but that doesn't seem to be the way things are meant to go."  
Robert made a grumbling noise, "Still seriously considering young Bates, then?"  
"Yes, though you're not supposed to know."  
Cora widened her blue eyes and smiled at him,  
as he placed a finger in front of his lips to make a shushing movement.

"I won't give away the show, but you know I don't entirely approve, even fond as I am of Bates.  
Saved my life, but it still shouldn't earn his son my granddaughter's hand."  
Cora chuckled at his wry tone.

 

"Well, as I said, I'll try to see if Edward's friend tempts Violet down a different path, but I'm fairly sure Mikhail's not the one for her."  
(And entering with tea on Lady Grantham's last remark, Thomas had to struggle to keep his face the perfect servant's blank.)


	17. Chapter 17

-  
-  
-  
The boys meanwhile, were doing as boys were wont to do in spring  
with the sap rising.  
Clarey Bates had finally decided (FINALLY) to ask Dolly Parker out on a date.  
It was a big moment in the young flirt's life, not because he'd ever been slow about asking a girl to the cinema (dozens, he'd asked). But because he knew with Dolly he'd not be asking to simply dally about.

 

"And you collected her at Yew Tree and then what?" Edward prodded as he, Misha, & Clarey were driving the lane to the north.  
"Andy was there. Daisy. The older ones in the front room, and I swear even Davey was peeking at me from the barn."  
His rueful tone made Edward laugh, but confused Kuragin entirely.   
"Daisy is Mrs. Parker, correct? The nice one in the kitchen? And your brother spoke of Andy, that they'd served together in the war." To murmured agreements from the other two, Misha continued, "Why would 'meeting' them be a problem, since you're already friends?"

 

"Andy & Daisy the friends aren't Andy & Daisy the parents of a girl I'm taking to the cinema," Clarey started.   
("They KNOW him," Edward said, shaking a bit with silent laughter. "Know every silly thing we've ever done.")  
"Ah," Misha said, the edges of his mouth tipping up, hard as he might try to keep them down.

"I'm not as silly as everyone likes to think," Clarey protested.   
("Took a train to London when he was six," Edward said in an undertone.)  
"I've grown a lot. I'm not a child."  
("Got us tied up in a cave a few months ago.")  
"Well, I'm not playing the fool this time. All right?"  
And Clarey's irritation was such that Edward said nothing more for a few moments.   
Then, "you've never been the fool, Clarey. Never. You're just...enthusiastic."

 

"And the girl? Did it go well once you got...away?"  
Misha still had the faintest tinge of humor in his voice which couldn't be disguised.  
"Mmm...well enough. She seemed to like the show, and we went for a bite after."  
Edward nodded encouragingly, forcing himself to not say anything more,  
though Clarey was going a most amazing shade of carmine.  
"And will she go out with you again, or did that finish your chances?"  
This from Misha, who'd also noticed the color shift.

"We'll go out again," Clarey said, and though pink, he said it with some satisfaction.  
"Ah, well, that's good then," Edward said. (For though he hated changes, he did think Dolly a rather nice girl.)

\---

"You can't tell granny or mum," Dolly cautioned Annie Philpotts.  
"Now, Dolly." The older woman didn't like the sound of that.  
"No, I just. Well, I can't very well ask my mum about this boy, now can I?"

Annie motioned her to a seat in the kitchen, officially to go over the inventory of jams supplied by Yew Tree, but unofficially to give advice.  
"And he missed? How's a boy to do that?"  
"Dunno, really, truly I don't. After the cinema, we were walking along and he stopped, so I looked up, thinking 'this is it,' and he did swoop down....but he hit my eye."  
Annie snorted, putting down extra cake to go with the tea.

 

"And you?"  
"Well, at first I yelped a bit, since it hurt, and he twittered around apologizing and looking so very truly sad."  
"That you let him try again?" Annie laughed.   
"I tried again. Me. Wasn't going to risk my sight completely."  
Dolly took a sip, trying not to start giggling herself at the boy, whom she liked quite well. But....really.  
"I know he's been out with girls before, so why did he have such problems with me?"

"Nerves. It's a good sign, not a bad one, I'd say," Annie decreed, taking a sip of her own and settling back. "I can see you like the daft kipper, so now you've just got to bring him round enough and make him calm."  
"Improve his aim," Dolly said drily, sending them both into a fit.

\---

"Didn't get to ask you the same," Clarey said under his breath as he walked beside Edward.   
Misha was a good distance in front of them, entering Longfield's barn with Daniel leading on.  
"Ask me what?"   
"Ask you how things have been...going."

And Clarey huffed, shoe on the other foot, as Edward colored up this time.  
"I'm not sure what you..."  
"The devil you aren't," Clarey cut in. "I know you're the cautious sort, Edward, but tell me you've at least managed to let him know you're interested."  
"It's just..." Edward started, as Daniel popped his head from the barn to call back.  
"What's taking you two so long?"

\---

Longfield raised sheep, which made a nice accompaniment to the pigs from Yew Tree.  
Downton stock was well regarded in the area, and won prizes at the shows.

The barn was old, for though the house had been destroyed and rebuilt during the war, the barns and outbuildings had survived along with the equipment.  
"And you do all of this here, just locally?" Misha asked, following Daniel about and hearing him lecture, watching it all with clever eyes.  
"We do. It's quite a lot to take in at first, I'll admit. I worked with Mr. Mason before marrying Sybil, so he brought me in a step at a time.  
"But, yes, we're quite the operation all on our own."

 

Daniel's proud voice and Misha's frank admiration both made Edward happy.  
When Barrow'd married Syb, there'd been the usual dust up, but Talbot had always been sure the two of them were Just Right.  
"And we'd best get inside or my lovely bride's going to have my head," Daniel joked, seeing the woman herself in the window....smiling, as always, and waving them on.

 

"Tea and warm chocolate, I've got both, and sandwiches rather than just sweets, figuring you men'd need a heavy tea with all the tramping around."  
"Leave him and marry me, will you, Syb?" Clarey flirted, without thinking. (Though he'd always thought the young woman Wonderful, even when he was just a lad.)  
To which,  
Daniel came by and smartly smacked him over the head, without breaking stride, before going to his seat for a sandwich.   
Patrick, who had learned to walk fairly well, came bumping about, followed closely by MaryMargaret. (A big enough girl to know her manners and try to be polite to the new big boy with her cousin Ned.)

 

It was a small, comfortable sort of riot--  
babies and dogs about, crowding the table as they had a cuppa.  
And while it was vastly different than the big house, Edward felt it was part of him, part of who he was and who he wanted to be. (For Sybbie'd always looked after the younger ones of them in the nursery, and always had something kind to say to every soul who lived.)  
"I think this one likes me best, though your daughter's lovely, too," Misha said, interrupting his thoughts.

 

Patty had managed, catlike, to locate the person who had never before held a small boy.  
Had toddled to him, climbed him, and claimed him.  
all before anyone could object (though no one seemed to even think along those lines.)  
"He's a friendly boy, our Whoops," Daniel agreed, reaching to chuck the child under the chin, before going back to sharing his own sandwich with his daughter.

"He is," Misha said, smiling down at the child, who smiled fondly back up.  
"Quite companionable."

And blushing away after Clarey's pointed look over,   
Edward found himself struggling to catch his breath for a while. 

\---

"Gong hasn't even rung, so we're safe," he said, as he and Misha rushed back into the Abbey after their junket to Longfield.  
"That's good. We might have to scrub a bit, not that I mind."  
The fleeting smile raced over his face as he tried to knock a bit of dust from his coat and take a small construction paper something from his pocket, to keep upstairs.

"Longfield?" Barrow asked, coming to take the coat.  
"Patrick," Misha answered, feeling doubly at ease now, having seen the same grey eyes in the adoring toddler that he now faced in the adult.  
"Mary's are much better, and less...sticky," Barrow said, smirking slightly, though his tone was fond. "Still, for his age, he shows some promise."  
"I'm not sure how you tell," Edward said, handing over his coat, too.

 

"Remember, I've had lots of practice in looking," the butler countered, giving a look that made Edward remember the man had undoubtedly changed his nappies, too.   
"Right," he agreed hurriedly, lest the stories be divulged. (Not that Barrow would.)  
"Let's go up."  
And he wasn't quite sure how conversation about Longfield was so involving that it not only took them took them to his room door, but took them inside.

 

"I'm surprised country life doesn't bore you," he said, though he was glad, very glad, along with surprised. 

"How could it? Something new and interesting, on top of having a long history behind?  
"But I 'd best go clean up," Misha said, realizing he'd followed all the way in without thinking.  
"Yes," Edward smiled, reaching out to where the construction paper...something...of Patty's had left a splot of glitter on his wrist.  
And looked up, hopefully,  
took a step toward Misha, hopefully...

When an unfortunate knock came on the door, sending them at least a yard apart.

 

"Edward? May I come in a moment?"  
And Violet entered with only a few seconds warning. After all, this was her brother, and her brother wouldn't be dressing in the bedroom. (There was another room in which to change.)  
"Johnny left this for..."  
She paused, noticing Edward's absolutely irritated look. ( Her quiet, kind hearted, loving brother had never looked at her that way before, certainly not for interrupting a conversation.)

"I'll just leave this..." she faltered, looking at Misha, who'd gone all blank faced, except for two high spots of color on his cheeks.  
"Here," Violet finished, looking once more back and forth between the boys, her brows gathering together.

 

"Right," she said evenly but weakly.  
Then,  
"Half hour to gong, boys. If you need the time."  
Walking out to the hall, running through the facts and adding this latest bit of evidence,  
until she reached the only logical conclusion.

 

"Hmph, well if he's going to do anything about it here, they'll need a lock of some sort. A hook and eye should suffice," she said, still a bit puzzled but rallying.  
And grumbling her way down the hall, the key thing she was worried about was that her highly intelligent brother seemed to have lost 'all sense."   
(Then again, she thought, when it came to Johnny, so did I.)


	18. Chapter 18

-  
-  
-  
"I'm sorry," Edward said, stumbling back to the chair and sitting down.  
He'd been so afraid of anyone finding out; so very, very careful about people NOT knowing.  
And now he'd not only fouled up for himself, but Misha, too.  
"Really, very sorry," he murmured, eyes on the carpet, rubbing his neck with his hand.

 

"Edward?"  
(He continued to blame himself, pulse pounding a bit in his ears.)  
"Edward?"  
("It's all my fault," he whispered as Kuragin came over beside him kneeling down.)  
"Listen to me now...It'll be just fine."

"Do you HEAR me?" he took his hand and gave it a tight sort of squeeze.  
"Truly. FINE."  
Misha said it simply, his voice firm and confident, though he couldn't be anything but.

 

"I don't think we shocked her too very thoroughly, even if she did figure out what was going on."  
The sound of his voice was pitched to be soothing, and Kuragin actually smiled.  
(Disheveled and still with that splotch of glitter on him, Edward noticed. With a smile that actually came and Stayed.)

"If anything WAS going on?" Now the tone was a teasing question, really, a chuckle running under it. (Were they going to kiss? The impulse had been there on both sides?)

Edward swallowed rather thickly and nodded. (Wanting to kiss him still, but...)  
"Yes....I'm so very sorry."  
Misha snorted a bit,  
"Well, I'm not."

 

He settled back, sitting flat while still keeping hold of him through the process,  
giving them both a moment in which to catch their breath.  
"And your sister'll be fine, you'll see.  
"Chances are she's not even Heard of such things," Misha said, confident of the sheltered lives of young ladies. 

"Mmm...well," Edward said, and finally a bit of a giggle started working its way up from his belly, whether still from shock or finally realizing the absurdity that was his life.  
"That's where you're wrong."

\---

"Save me," Liz murmured as Violet entered the drawing room a short while later.  
It was a weak little damsel in distress plea, quite unlike the midwife's usually competent tones.  
Looking over her shoulder, however, Violet didn't need to ask why.  
"Aunt Edith, I didn't know you were here."  
She went over, making the usual gestures of greeting, compartmentalizing her worries about Johnny leaving (and Edward...whatevering.) Knowing there had to be a fairly serious reason for her aunt to be in town.

 

"We've got to go up to London for a final fitting, and Edith is joining us," Cora said brightly to Violet, though she was looking at Liz, who was now going to ground near the far windows. 

"I actually came to talk to papa about Rob, but then I've a trip to my publishers as it happens."  
"So she pushed in and invited herself along."  
"Now Mary," Cora admonished. "None of that."

 

Meanwhile, Violet went to the window, following Liz.  
"Perhaps you'd like to come with? Look at dresses, too?" Liz's eyes were pleading, her voice a bit desperate.  
In its own way, a humorous little turn.  
Dresses? Another endless round of wedding plans for George?  
God, forbid.

 

Still,  
Violet weighed the necessity of staying and sorting things here.  
(Edward would be fine. Surely Clarey knew....irritating as that was. And Barrow would help if problems arose.)  
Versus LONDON. (Riding the same train south as Johnny perhaps? And a few days afterwards to check around to make sure things were good?)

Given those two choices, suddenly 'dresses' sounded like a master stroke.  
So, to a grateful Liz she responded,  
"A trip up to London sounds perfectly fine."

\---

Meanwhile upstairs,

"And everyone in the house knows this?"  
"Upstairs, yes. Downstairs, maybe not the new people, though I'm assuming so."  
Misha had scooted so his back was to the wall, leaning against the chair on which Edward sat.  
His hair splayed across the other boy's sleeve as he leaned there, keeping contact.

"And they let him raise you? All of you knowing?"  
"Of course. He's BARROW. Mama knows he's better with children than any of the rest."  
Misha huffed,  
"That's not exactly my point."  
Looking up amused, "You have a most unusual family, Edward. Don't you understand how different things are here than anywhere else?"

 

Edward, though, wasn't focusing on societal issues or Donk's liberal employment policies.  
As Kuragin leaned back, amused, relaxed even, he was more beautiful than he'd yet seemed.  
The smile hadn't run across his face, then hidden. This time it, as well as a dark sort of laughter, had stayed.

And Talbot scrambled a bit down out of the chair, next to him on the floor,  
forgetting his hesitation,  
just once more wanting  
to kiss.

\---

They were definitely running behind by the time they managed to clean up and dress for dinner.

"Boys," Cora said, turning palms up helplessly as Edward & Misha skated,  
scrubbed but breathless, into the room.  
"You're late."

"Sorry, granny."  
"I apologize"  
Voices overlapped, as they came toward Cora.  
"Well, we'll forgive you, as always," she said. "Barrow." (a nod)  
"Let's go in, then."

 

"And, Mikhail, you haven't met my other daughter, Edith...."  
A drone of introductions following the two of them as Edward held back to walk in with his sister.  
"Violet?"  
"Edward."  
("No names, no pack drill," she whispered under her breath in answer to his nervous look.)

Then louder and blandly,  
"Liz has a fitting in London, and we're all piling on. I trust you boys can keep an eye out on things here."  
(Again in a lowered voice, "I'll tell you, of course, to be careful, but I won't make it my role to tell you how to 'behave.'")


	19. Chapter 19

-  
-  
-

The trip south Johnny expected wasn't the trip he got,  
though given Letty's tendencies at 'arranging matters,' he shouldn't have been  
absolutely surprised.  
"Liz has fittings. She asked. Mama asked. Why wouldn't we go?"  
That was all the warning Johnny got the evening before when the thing was done.  
Whiz on up to London, it was.

\---

The trickiest part of the maneuver, of course, was when Violet practically pushed him into the same carriage where the ladies were. (Herded, more like. Nipped at his heels like one of Sybbie's dogs.)  
He, of course, took it in stride, having found that on most things Violet knew what she was about.  
Though it WAS a bit awkward in the first few minutes' time.

Lady Edith, one of the family or not, had apparently NOT entirely agreed with her sister's decision to have servants' children in the Downton nursery.  
And her face held an expression of mixed triumph and irritation that this friendship was the final result.  
"Really, Violet, I'm sure young Bates has his own plans..."  
"Johnny," Lady Mary cut her off, "be a dear and help me with this train case. The handle's quite falling off."  
It wasn't, of course, but it was the quickest excuse her ladyship seemed to find to get him in and by her. (A thing which Johnny found subtly encouraging, even if it did move him from immediately by Violet's side. )

 

"Really, mama, he's..."  
"Sure I can be a help," Johnny finished, smiling over his shoulder, checking the thing and finding it undamaged. Looking at Mary Crawley's sly and twinkling eyes.  
"Perhaps put it on the rack?" he asked the woman, knowing the tiny thing was a small portion of what she'd brought. (That somewhere in the car to the rear of them Mrs. Moseley and some unnamed maid of Lady Edith's were overseeing a mountain of stuff.)

"Thank you, that would be marvelous," Mary said, still trying not to gloat as her sister fussed behind them, having had her attentions turned by Lady Grantham toward the Bride. 

 

Poor Liz was in for an even more stressful trip than he was, Johnny thought, realizing she'd be in close quarters for the trip's entire time.  
"Let's try to sit to the front, at least," Violet said, coming up to where he still stood by her mother.  
"That would be nice," he said in an equally quiet tone, knowing no matter how they started,  
it was a long ride back.  
And he'd end up at least somewhat dealing with the entire cluster of ladies, like it or no.

\---

"Is there something bothering you that you're not saying?"  
Every once in a while in the lapses of conversation, he noticed Violet staring out the window with a bemused sort of frown.  
"No, or at least not a problem. I'm just thinking of the general drama of Downton Life."

It made him chuckle....quiet little Downton did have its moments, even if they didn't compare the sturm und drang of where they were going now.  
However, once reminded, Violet made sure to focus her entire attention on the more important matter--time with Johnny.  
Sitting there, (holding hands since no one was watching), idly chatting to pass the time.

 

"Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I had to make my escape."  
This from Liz, who came smiling and settling herself in nearby with not so much as a by your leave. Of course, she didn't need to stand on ceremony when it came to Johnny--having in her own way saved his life.  
(And while George might've tried to deny Johnny & Violet were anything more than friends when Johnny'd been at his hospital, his fiance was of a more romantic mind.)

 

"You will manage to stay with us, won't you? Come back in the evenings after you're through?"  
Barely two minutes after settling in, Liz was already helping to 'arrange things' herself.  
"They keep me rather busy, even on holidays between terms," Johnny explained. "Though I might try to come by one of your days in town."

"Johnny has some young man depending on him, all the while pushing him back," Violet drawled, voice rather proud and rather grim at the same time. "He's not exactly sure what he's walking into."

Liz nodded, understanding work and clients all too well.  
"Yes, that happens," the midwife agreed. "Not everyone is as easy to get along with as we'd like."

\---

No, not everyone did get along.  
He'd grown up knowing Lady Mary and Lady Edith had two distinct personalities that frequently clashed. It was another thing entirely, to see it cause their Mother to retreat, choosing the casual company of young people to the two at odds.  
("You've now won the gold seal," Violet murmured in his ear as her granny came to sit down.)

"It's a shame we're so early to London. In another month, the gardens there will be really quite nice," Lady Grantham said, smiling and settling in for a 'pleasant chat.'  
She'd moved up, in theory, to say something to Liz.  
However, once there, she'd asked Johnny to bring down the hamper, distributing food first to their group of four, before sending the rest to the back. (No station stop take away food for them.)

 

....."And a June wedding would have been wonderful, I'm sure, but spring is just so fresh and new and triumphant,"  
Liz said as Johnny returned, getting a nod of agreement from Lady Grantham.  
Fortunately, while he wasn't much of a gardener himself, he'd listened to enough of Clarey's second hand babbling to know most of Downton's garden layout and history well.

"Have you seen what Mr. Samuelson's done at the folly?" Cora began, managing the rather difficult task of having a bite on the train,  
while looking as though she were simply on a social call.  
"I heard about it," Johnny nodded along, urging on the next round.  
(A lovely old lady. A nice enough conversation, even if not the one Johnny or Violet would have preferred. )

\---

An hour of polite conversation later,  
Johnny went to collect the items back that he'd passed out before.  
He didn't see this as 'acting the footman,' but simply doing what any young man would to help.  
(Violet still grumbling the matter of pride a bit under her breath.)

 

No, he didn't mind.  
Or rather he didn't mind until he actually had to approach the two sisters again. The earlier disagreement had apparently changed into something a bit more tense.  
"You know Robbie would never do something to hurt the family, even if he puts Hexham before Grantham--which is, for him, only right."  
"I'd say it's not too promising, if he'd let them say rude things about Edward behind his back."  
They abruptly stopped when Bates came near them, thankfully.

"If you're through," he said, attempting to hide behind a polite smile.  
"Yes, thank you, John."  
To his surprise, Mary quickly picked and packed the bits and pieces, handing him over only the tidily arranged bag.  
"We do appreciate your help."

 

From what Lady Grantham had said in their chat up front, her husband was arranging for Robbie Pelham to change colleges, asking only if Violet & Johnny were quite satisfied where they were.  
Now he wondered what the matter was.  
And, though they'd agreed they were satisfied 'enough,' John wondered a bit if going to another place would be helpful for the younger boys.  
Still,  
"Happy to help," was all he said,  
before leaving the two women to their disagreement, knowing he'd not be able to solve the issues himself.

\----

It had been the longest ride to London he could remember, and yet having the hours with Violet made it worthwhile.

"I WILL see you late tomorrow night, won't I?" she asked. The trip back up from the offices wouldn't be that long, and he didn't need to go to the college every night, she knew.  
"Your mother will be angry if she finds out you've added another room."  
"My mother suggested you come back for luncheon the day after, knowing I'll be bored from tomorrow's fitting. Can I help it if this is the most efficient manner to have you here handy for that idea?"  
(She didn't even bother to hide the smirk.)

 

"It's a bit extravagant for me to have a room, though," he still said, needing to make the point.  
"Mmm, of course. But you'll be in splendid poverty tonight, toiling away tomorrow. Surely I can treat this once?" She smiled up, having argued him round a bit during the ride. "Eventually, what's mine will be yours...and I intend you to be so successful that what's yours will be mine, too."

It was a foolish sort of joke, that he'd ever have so much she'd covet it. That they'd tear up the lives that had been mapped out from their disparate births and create a new, wholly better one together.  
A joke. A promise.

 

Looking to the side where the others were waiting, he didn't quite dare sneak a kiss, giving her hand a light squeeze instead.  
"Go on, you've a taxi waiting, and I've a connection. I promise I'll be back again tomorrow, if you want."  
"I want every minute I can get," she said, honestly. (For Violet was impeccably honest.)  
Then, satisfied for now, she waved and walked away.  
Leaving Johnny to watch her, knowing himself to be a truly fortunate man.


	20. Chapter 20

-  
-  
-

Meanwhile the boys were a bit confused in their endeavors.  
"Why would you take her all the way to York to a dance?" Edward asked,  
distracted as a clutch of birds chattered by.  
"I thought maybe not having everyone in the village staring at the two of us might help me relax and impress her."  
"Did it?"  
"Hm, no, really. Not much."

 

Edward, Clarey & Misha were standing in the clearing next to the game keeper's cottage.  
It was misty and the leaves were Just filled enough to give up water in large drops which periodically fell on their hats.

(Dripped on their faces and just slightly shivered their necks.)  


"Too bad Jimmy isn't here. He'd have ideas," Edward said sympathetically, turning back in.  
"It isn't that I don't have ideas," Clarey grumbled, feeling the need to defend himself. " It's just that they aren't very good ones for the situation at hand."  
"True," Edward nodded, but catching Misha's questioning look--  
"He's good at making an impression, but hasn't had much practice after two or three times."  
"Ah," Misha nodded.  
"Oi," Clarey objected. 

 

Besides, even if he'd frequently worked his way to a third or fourth date (which he hadn't), Dolly would still require something a bit 'more' special.  
"I want to do what's right. I wouldn't've risked Andy shooting me if I didn't think she might be the one."  
("Mrs. Parker's husband would really try to shoot?"  
"No, but it wouldn't end well.")

"I think," Edward said slowly, fully giving his best mate his eyes.  
"That the dance sounds like a splendid idea."  
"Hmm," nodded Clarey. (Muttering under his breath 'you'd think.')  
"But it wasn't?" Edward prodded.

 

"It was right enough," Clarey said, starting to turn faintly pink.  
"And she liked the chocolatier beforehand very much."  
("Can't he dance?" Misha guessed.  
"Course he can, he's just a tad energetic sometimes.")

"We had a perfectly fine evening, and I'll do without the advice."

 

Finally from behind the door where he'd been listening, Joe came out,  
expression carefully controlled, managing not to laugh.

\---

Meanwhile at the big house, the 'older' generation were discussing the matter.

"It's not that there's anything wrong with Clarey, of course," Daisy said, looking over her tea cup at Thomas. "Truly there isn't."  
(Checking the door to his office once again to see it was closed, that Anna couldn't possibly hear.)  
"No, of course not, nothing wrong at all."  
Barrow took a sip of tea himself and began to nibble his biscuit to let the silence grow.

Across from him, Daisy stared deeply into the cup, frowning, fiddling with the china some.  
(Handle at right angles. Handle toward her. Handle at right angles.)  
Still, it was Daisy, and conversation eventually....came out.

 

"You know, though, Thomas, he isn't exactly what I'd expected my level headed Dolly bringing home. I'd braced myself to train up some silly young rooster. And instead she brought in this....hummingbird."  
Thomas grinned briefly.  
"Wouldn't've been my first thought either, but I might not be the best judge."

"Still," he continued, trying not to laugh in the face of her concern.  
"If the boy decides to be, he's sharp enough." 

They sipped and munched a few minutes, reflecting on the matter.

 

And seeing Daisy still wasn't settled, "Besides, I heard him tell Anna he was trying to think of a business to open after he finished everything up...so of the two, he's at least coming home."  
Was that perhaps her worry?  
Daisy'd never quite liked that the Bates family got advantages, thought it made them put themselves slightly above the rest. Was she worried Clarey would whisk her daughter away?

The cook set her cup aside, working her hand back and forth along her apron in a nervous gesture. (Picking at a slight stain of chocolate with a battered fingernail.)

 

"Do you really, truly think he's all right though? That she isn't just being led down the garden path over his looks?"  
Thomas snorted. The worry of mothers everywhere.  
"I remember you thinking Andy was rather fit. It was only after you began to fill in the blanks. And that ended well."

The twisting of the apron stopped, and Daisy tilted her head, considering. Thinking of Her Andy.  
"Course it did," she smiled.

However, after another moment...  
"Still, Clarey Bates," she muttered.  
"Mmm," he said finishing a sip, "Never can tell."

\--

"So, my fine lads, exactly what are we supposed to be looking for whilst on this ramble?"  
Joe'd promised Thomas he wouldn't get boxed into a discussion of anything 'personal' with the boys--not that he felt they'd ask.

"I wanted Misha to see the entire place while he was here," Edward said, smiling slightly.  
"Well, we'll do our best at a general warm up, but he can get to know things better the next time he comes down."

 

Clarey's faint chuckle and Edward's slight blush, amused Joe. (Why shouldn't he assume the new 'friend' would be a frequent guest?)  
Silly beggars. What he'd like to do was give them a few thoroughly honest comments on Life followed by an offer to answer any and all questions they might have. 

Bates would be in his glory. Talbot would be embarrassed, but rally. And the new one, who knew? At least he'd have a chance to prove his mettle.  
Thomas, however.  
Thomas'd kill him.

And it was a bit refreshing, this fumbling coltish lustiness in front of him.

 

"So, Misha, was it? We'll make sure you get a look around, and while we're doing it, you can tell me all about yourself."  
(At least if he couldn't give them frank details, maybe he could dig out some information from the silent one, some sort of insight Talbot might want.)


	21. Chapter 21

(Chapter 20 1/4, actually. And a tiny sad bit for Anna. Poor girl, I've waited as long as I could, leaving her alone.)

-  
-  
-

"I tell you, it's fine."

Andy was wrapped around his Love, whispering softly into her ear and rubbing slow circles of warmth on her back.  
"He's not the idjit you think, Daisy girl. Got to know their Johnny inside and out, and this younger one--got to know him through the stories Johnny'd tell."  
"Stories. Phht," Daisy muttered, snuggling more firmly into her husband's grasp. "Stories. When our daughter's out under the moonlight with that....that....boy."(Tiny little thing she was, but fierce.)

"A brother who loves another one is as good as a letter of reference, innit?" he continued gently, large hands moving to knead at her neck. "You still see them as boys, but I got a glimpse of how they'd be as men."

"Clarey's a bit flighty, but there's nothing for that but experience. And he'll get bashed about by life soon enough.  
Leaning in closer and breathing her, "His hearts in the right place, Daisy girl, and for all these changes....  
you can trust me, it'll all be well."

 

\--

"It's fine, Mr. Bates. I promise you, it'll be right."  
Odd how in stressful moments she still called her husband that.  
Odd how she was the one calming him now.  
He'd been the one to tell her Johnny had the right to any girl he chose, that Clarey should be allowed to find his own way.  
And now?

"They'll ruin things. After all their hard work, they'll throw it away."  
He paced the room and mumbled, picking at his nightclothes with nervous, thin hands. 

 

He'd been like this since a fit of some sort just the end of January.  
Her strong, broody husband was simply broody and anxious now.  
Changed & lessened in some indefinable way.

Still, each day he got dressed and went with her to the big house.  
(Thomas had hired a valet, ostensibly for Master George. But actually doing everything he could to preserve John's pride.)  
"It'll be fine, John. I promise you.  
We need to get some sleep, though, or we'll not be able to do our work."  
That steered him.

"Must keep at it, keep things going."  
"Yes, it'll be all right love. I promise it will."

\---

 

"Honestly, you silly man, it's fine. I didn't do anything awful or give them advice on the finer points of fuckery."  
Joe ran a practiced hand across Thomas's chest, amused himself with the furriness there,  
kissing at the side of his head where grey hair now grew.  
"I tell you it's fine," he said, smiling slightly as the other man relaxed.  
"That new one's twice as private as you, anyway, and three times as proud."

"There's just so much to do with the wedding. Just when we should be doing our best work, everyone's dropping the plot.  
And now the children..."  
"Who are just perfectly fine, really. We've just got to get over aging, and they've just got to get over being young."


	22. Chapter 22

-  
-  
-  
Ah, the wedding plans.

In London, the wedding dress was a revelation, so marvelously done it almost seemed to have a life of its own.  
It was both simple and not simple at the same time: a fitted bodice with a v-neck and slim, long sleeves which showed off Liz's figure, yet appeared modesty itself.  
And then there was the skirt.  
An impossibility of a thing just a few years before, the skirt flowed out from a cinched waist, 40 or more yards of white silk, filled by six layers of ivory tulle underneath.  
"Golly," Mary murmured.  
"You like it, then?" Liz smiled on entering as the four actually clapped.  
"It's every bit as beautiful as you," Cora agreed, going forward with the gentlest kiss.

 

As to be expected, Cora and her daughters circled around, admiring the dress and making suggestions for how to drape it...about in equal parts.  
"The beadwork is lovely," Edith said, bending closer as though to study the intricate stuff. Seed pearls, white beads by the thousands, embroidered into the skirt.  
"Never thought we'd see the likes of actual fashion again."

And for once, Lady Mary nodded at her sister. The war and all its rationing had hurt the fashion industry deeply. Which was why Mary had insisted they go to any lengths for a dazzler of a dress, even within such a short amount of time.  
"And with the tiara, it will really make the veil even more grand."

 

The veil? Liz had forgotten the veil.  
The thing was a veritable mound of tulle, which would trail along behind with her train.  
"And the pleat in back will let you sit without creasing." Edith narrowed her eyes, and considered. "Very nice."  
"Yes, absolutely practical of them," Mary smirked.

"So heavy, though," Liz said, moving slowly forward again.  
"And with your hair up and the tiara on, your head will be weighted, too. Still, it's a stunning effect," Mary encouraged. "And the beads will photograph far better than plain silk can."

 

Violet, meanwhile, circled more warily--adoring every tiny little detail, every embellishment. The dozens of buttons running along her backbone, the tiniest bits of lace.  
Imagining herself in a similar gown.  
Even though Sybbie had stuck to Mary's first dress, there was no possibility of Violet ever wearing the second. (For though she still loved the memory of her father, his leaving had left a deep sort of scar. Unlike Edward, she hadn't even visited the grave down south...not able to dare.)

"Do you like it?" Liz asked her.  
"Of course. You look...beautiful," Violet answered, firmly.  
(Then lower, Liz whispered her very thoughts, "You're next.")

\---  
Feeling totally unlike herself, Violet practically floated, (as though on a cloud of tulle floating across the sky.)  
The ride to the hotel was by without noticing,  
all of the chitter chatter going past (not aimed at her at any rate.)  
"Darling, you're joining us downstairs for dinner aren't you?" granny asked. 

"I think I'll turn in before."  
She'd Already arranged in room service for their meal--  
a very good thing, since Violet wasn't enough of herself to carry through.

(The sitting room was set, with the adjoining door open for now.)

 

\---

"You're here," Johnny smiled. "How many dresses did you end up getting?"  
"Only one, but, oh, you should see what Liz will be in. It's a fit for-a-queen sort of dress."  
"You're MY queen. Regal. And beautiful, so much so that I'm not sure we oughtn't to run off tonight. Truly, Violet. I swear."

She came to herself, then. Looking at his eyes, already tired in spite of their recent holiday.  
"Bad day already? Was it the boy?"  
"Hmm, but I don't want to think about that. Feed me chocolate and tell me about wedding dresses, Miss Violet. It might not be my usual interest, but...tonight.....sweet and innocent sounds just fine."


	23. Chapter 23

-  
(Note: mentions of harassment, though not direct.)  
-  
-  
-

Lewis Jenson hadn't wanted to even talk to Johnny Bates when he'd come to the infirmary--  
arriving there at midmorning from working, and intending to circle back to London that night.  
I'm nothing to him, Lewis told himself. Just someThing his boss Moorsum told him to check on.  
And he shifted over on the lumpy mattress, thin & defenseless in striped pajamas, refusing to look up.

"Even if you think nothing can be done, we need to try, Lewis."  
Bates, all calm and polite, tidily dressed and rested. (Though Lewis noticed the strain in the other boy's eyes.)

"It was just the one this time. No matter. And a prog broke up the fight, so 'they' already know."  
Jenson smirked, keeping his voice bland and his eyes on the worn blanket & over bleached bedding.  
Did he really think HE could make a difference? Or even a lawyer?  
Such an impudent boy, this Bates.

 

"And what did the progs do? How can I help?"  
"THEY did nothing. YOU can't help. It's just a 'fight between boys,'" he mimicked. " I just have to stay away from the others until they decide to play their games with someone else."  
  
"At least could I bring you something from your room?"

His room.  
Shite.  
Lewis hadn't thought much about it, what condition the room might be in.  
"No. If they see you around me too much, Bates, you'll just be in trouble yourself.  
"Now I'll ask you to leave if you don't mind."  
Turning over, facing away from him fully,  
so he didn't have to see him leave  
again.

\----

The prep school Lewis Jenson & Googie Sloane had gone to as youngsters was like quite a few others throughout the land.  
It might have been a cut below academically, but it still attracted enough boys from good families to have an acceptable reputation.  
One that would get a student entry into the next level on the scholastic chain.

Lewis was quite happy there the first few years, or as happy as one could be under the circumstance.  
His mother had died whilst he was young, and his father decided it was better he go to public school anyway. That school would make him a man.  
He was only nine.

 

Even at that age, Lewis had an annoying way about him, at least if his father's constant criticism was to be believed.  
Yet he couldn't help it, truly.  
His mother hadn't allowed him to be raised by a nanny, so he'd adopted Her mannerisms. The cloying drawl. The slight smirk. Even his washed out eyes in his delicate face seemed too like her.

Yes, it might have been disaster from the first, boarding with a group of rough and tumble boys--far too little supervised.  
But he was lucky; he became friends with a blustery lad named Goodwin Sloane who seemed to take him under his wing.  
Where Lewis was safe.

 

And they were friends at that point. Truly.  
No one would believe it now, even Googie Sloane would deny it vehemently. But they had been.  
They had been CLOSE. (Lewis would repeat this to himself of a night sometimes now, still not able to let go of those childhood memories. In some ways, more patient with the treatment afterwards, vile as it was.)

Everyone said it didn't matter whether one had money if one was of a good family, but to most of them it had.  
Not Sloane, though. Not then.  
He'd not cared if Lewis' father was a younger son who'd squandered his funds and didn't send along even enough to buy sweets at the tuck shop.  
Googie simply 'treated' his pal.

And of course, it hadn't been totally one-sided. Friendships never were.  
Lewis had been bright, been willing to help the more dull witted boy with assignments.  
An equitable sort of balance of power was wrought, with each filling in the other's needs...as friends naturally did.

 

Yes, they'd been inseparable..... until they got to an age when the other boys began to make remarks on how 'inseparable' they were.  
(Not that such things should've mattered. Nothing had happened. And nothing ever did.)  
However, as time went on Sloane seemed to look at him more speculatively, whilst taking out any untoward anger on the younger boys.  
(Nothing sexual that Lewis knew of. Bangs. Bumps. Bruises.  
Somehow wanting to prove his brute strength over them all.)

And in the end, he turned on Lewis, too.

When he'd seemed to go Over the line & Lewis refused to follow,  
pushed away somewhat.  
Abandoned him and punishment became a need.

 

Lewis wasn't even sure if Googie WAS what the others suggested.  
Jenson now knew he was, though he'd kept the matter absolutely private.  
(There were others, including people with whom Sloane were now friends, who would bait homosexuals. Manipulate and humiliate them intentionally. Privacy was a Must.)

And in the end, it didn't matter, really...knowing or not knowing about Sloane's personal inclinations.  
All he needed to know was that the boy now hated him,  
that it was necessary to keep away from him  
as best as he could.

\---

"I've got a few books," John Bates said, gently, placing the stack of things by the bedside.  
He'd come back.  
Lewis was in a bed by the window, in its own way quite pleasant...and safe.

"Did he wreck the room?"  
Of course, there was physical safety, then there was a 'safety' within one's own mind.  
(Lewis lacked that, to be sure. Hands running through his hair listlessly, eyes quite dead.)

 

"Not too much. I put the things that were scattered to rights as best I could."  
Bates didn't look so tidy and rested now, Jenson noted idly. No, he'd seen a bit of the truth of the matter by his look.

"Thanks."  
It wasn't much of a show of appreciation, though he knew the other boy had done more for him than anyone else.  
Still, in some odd sort of way Lewis almost blamed his leaving for this last beating, or maybe it was jealousy for the boy having a perfect life while his was like it was.

"Some clothes, too. I'll put them over here."  
The nurse came in then with bustling efficiency, chirping how nice it was to have a visitor, making things more awkward than they already were.  
"You should go."  
"I should."

 

Johnny paused.  
"But you should think on things. Here. While you're safe from it all. I'll be back and maybe there's a way to help if we both think on it hard enough."  
Lewis wanted to laugh, to chuck a book at the boy,  
who even in kindness could be so inadvertently condescending.  
"Fine."

His flat tone and lack of agreement bothered Bates, Lewis could tell.  
Still the boy nodded, standing up.  
"I'll be back then, day after tomorrow. Nurse says you'll still be here, and we'll do what we can."

\---

Outside the infirmary, Johnny tried to pull himself together.

I'll not share this with Violet, he thought.  
It's too very dismal, and she's in the midst of such a lovely sort of time.  
Maybe later, I'll tell her and she can help sort things.  
But not right now.

I'll not share this with Violet right now, he thought.


	24. Chapter 24

-  
-  
-

Meanwhile at the Abbey, the other boys were distracted by FAR more petty problems  
(though concerning enough to Themselves.)

Edward, for instance.  
Edward and Misha hadn't progressed beyond kissing, and not satisfactorily enough even in that.  
For it seemed too alarming to either of the two introverts to sneak in each other's rooms at night--too bold, too cocky, too suggestive of a wild variety of desires for which they weren't quite trusting to give over.  
(Besides, they were in the family wing, after all...and who knew when another bomb might drop on the stables forcing everyone out?)

 

Yet in the day, there were interruptions.  
Like Clarey.  
Edward had just discovered Misha's breath hitched in a most attractive way when he kissed up his cheek and gently on his closed eyelids when...  
the knob rattled alarmingly and turned  
as Clarey entered, snorting a bit & pushing past a chair placed (ineffectually) there.

 

"Ready you two?" he asked nonchalantly.  
(Not wanting to be so obvious that he knocked after all these years.  
And yet getting a bit amused at having to rattle his way in each time.)  
"Of course we are," Edward said a bit breathlessly back, not realizing the passage of time.

\---

The midmorning air held the full promise of spring with whispers of summer to follow.  
"Everyone's all right then?" Clarey's voice piped through the freshness.  
They were tromping out toward the Etruscan folly to add their efforts to the project there.

"Mama said they were, and Johnny'd got away for luncheon, too.  
"Home tomorrow."

At this, Clarey nodded. They'd best be home, he thought.  
Why the wedding wasn't that far off and in the meantime Liz had to be here sorting through dozens of decisions with his mother and Barrow.  
"That's good."  
And smiling one to the other, the three continued on.

\---

While in another corner of Downton Young Men,  
George was pacing in the sitting room with his uncle and grandfather watching on.

(Though frankly, if Liz had been anywhere close by, he wouldn't've been so handy.  
He'd've been on the next train to Gretna Green running off with her...  
for--as with Johnny--sometimes it sounded absolutely appealing,  
dropping all obligations and simply running off with the woman one loves.)

 

"Georgie, I realize your mama manages the place. However, you still must know what's involved."  
Women gone, his grandfather had decided to give George a COMPREHENSIVE review of how matters stood across their holdings, including side notes on traditions and history according to the Crawley clan.  
Even in this modern age, Lord Grantham still believed this a Males Only moment--frustrating everyone.  
(Three hours in, it wasn't how George'd planned his day away from the hospital to go.)

Of course, Mary's son had already had variations on this theme since he was a child--  
Donk sliding a segment in a bit at a time as his granny pulled the 'girls' along to one luncheon or another.

Today, however, was proving a bit more frantic than the rest,  
Donk insisting on imparting absolutely EVERYTHING all at one go.

 

"You're here to ask," George tried with an engaging smile. "And after Christmas, you can't claim to be slowing down."  
"I won't be forever, though, and each man must rise to fill his Role."  
Crawley had been told his Role since he was a child, too. (Undoubtedly in the nursery, someone had whispered it to the Heir in his cot, but of this belief he had no proof.)  
"I know, Donk. And I'll make sure and protect Downton, just as you did and your father before. But I may not sit exactly HERE every day to do it. There is the hospital, too."

 

Usually at this point in their grandfather's Men's Day lecturing, Edward would come out from some corner and help him. Reassure the old man that he had every bit of Downton & Crawley minutiae safely memorized and at hand.  
Today, though, Edward was nowhere to be found.

"He'll be fine, Robert. You've told him far more than your father probably told you about the matter."  
Tom filled in the gap as best he could, bringing Robert a drink. (Surprising George by bringing him one, too.)  
"He knows what he has to do, and Mary's here, and Edward....and me."

The tone in which Tom said the last bit made George sad.  
That he would still hesitate like that. (Why, he seemed more father than uncle, truly. Not as much a substitute as Barrow, but enough of one that George no longer used the word 'uncle' any more.)  
"I worry in this modern world," the old earl grumbled, rolling on. "I worry about this lovely place, not just the house, but the lands, and the history it holds.  
"It's not just some part time.....'job.'"

 

Tom nodded, understanding his concerns. George nodded, understanding his tensions.  
They all stood there nodding one to the other, yet not of one mind at all.  
"I'll do my best, Donk. No one will forget everything in an instant.  
And I'm sure Liz will have a way to combine our position in the county with matters we're concerned about in Health."

 

"A charity, perhaps?" his grandfather suggested, frown easing somewhat.  
He was used to the idea of those in their ranks heading charities for a noble cause, combining personal interests with power, as it were.  
"The hospital itself is a legacy from the past," George reminded him; certainly not wanting to give up his calling for some honorary role.

"Until the socialists got involved with that 'Plan.'"  
Lord Grantham said the last word the way one would do upon tasting something nasty. Mouth involuntarily pursing at the odious nature of nationalized health.  
(Ah, the differing views of medical care, the young doctor thought...having battled through the currents of change first hand.)

"Just because you don't directly control every piece of it, doesn't exactly make it Socialist," Tom tried. (His face, meanwhile, looked like it held back a chuckle. Such reforms as Beveridge had proposed during the war years were to his liking....but certainly not what the Irishman would ever term 'socialist.')  
"Hmmm..." the earl grumbled, readying another volley  
when they were thankfully interrupted...for such a side topic would have taken the rest of George's Day.

 

"Hello?" Sybbie's voice floated in from the door that Barrow was opening.  
"Is it safe for me to enter?"  
Ahead of her, walking in without hesitation, MaryMargaret took the floor.  
"Donk!" the girl smiled. "Donk! I came up to show you my book! Mrs. Parker's daughter had it in her shop!"  
The six year old was carrying a volume about a third the size of herself, cradling it in her arms like a precious infant.  
"Darling, of course I'd love to see your book," the old man smiled, sitting so that she could sit primly at his side.

"Thus, adjourns the 'He man Woman Haters Club'?" Sybbie said quietly to George, coming over while watching her daughter take charge.  
"Sybbie," her father tisked, though the smile he gave her undercut the warning.  
Then, "What are you up to, love?"

 

"I've come to ask if Georgie can come out to play," she answered loudly so their grandfather could hear, grinning and unashamed.  
"Perhaps go for a ride? I haven't in so long, and Barrow said he'd look after the children."  
Ah, thought George. Sybbie riding to his rescue...literally.  
"That sounds wonderful," George said, almost rude in his haste to stand up. "Exactly what I'd like for a spring day away from surgeries."

(And so much more pleasurable than ploughing once again through 'duties' with Donk.  
For though he absolutely loved the old man, loved Downton,  
it was spring and Georgie needed a bit of rest from his burdens.  
The day was nice and his heart was young.)

\---

They'd barely managed to saddle up when Sybbie looked rather sheepishly at him and  
said, "I actually needed to talk to you about something."  
Her tone made the 'something' sound ghastly important, returning the young man's frown.

Frankly, if it hadn't been knowing she was much better at riding than he was, George would have kicked his mount and galloped off.  
"I'm not the earl yet," he growled at her, urging the horse into (only) a walk.  
She laughed. 

"It's not that dire. It's just..." she hesitated.  
"Well..." she looked away over the lawn. "Maybe first, I'll race you to the point?"  
"Better," he grinned back, suddenly sunny again  
as they both took off.

 

Sybbie'd come in first, but not by much, which left George laughing.  
His hair was standing straight up on his head, and hers had escaped its scarf.  
And they were children again for just a split second.  
"You need to get your head out of people's stomachs and do this more. You're almost good," she said, a bit taunting.  
"Never as good as you, though," he said agreeably.  
"Well, no," Sybbie said. "But I did have a head start...on life."

 

She laughed when she said it, her 'older' status having been his excuse as a child for her superiority in maths and cricket.  
And they rode along in an companionable silence for a while.  
"Just spill it, Syb," he said finally, sounding like some matinee actor, making her grin again.

"Barrow," she said.  
"Uncle Thomas?" he teased, though with a bit of an undercurrent.  
"I only call him that occasionally when I forget. And he IS almost my uncle. An uncle in law, if that's a thing."  
"It isn't," he said firmly, his tone so jealous, Sybbie came over with laughter. (Laughed so hard at his irritated look and scowling features, so much like a five year old Georgie that the laugh made her sides ache.)  
"Ah, golly," she said finally, out of breath.

 

George, fortunately, was the good sort of fellow who knew how to laugh at himself.  
And catching what she'd found amusing, he had the good grace to grin back.

"Barrow. You were saying you needed to talk about him?"  
"Ah, well," Sybbie said, relaxed and yet still managing a bit of a flush.  
"Don't you think now might be the time to get the poor man his own cottage, rather than having him in the big house the way things were decades past?"  
(There it was. She'd managed it, just as she & Daniel'd discussed.)

 

George, however, just looked puzzled.  
"But he supervises."  
"A handful of hall boys, which that new valet can do instead. He's old enough."  
(Oh, how Sybil wanted to tweak his nose at officially having a valet, though she'd seen through the ruse immediately. George, after all, had been dressing himself for years.)  
"I don't see why the others only have to have day duties, when Barrow's duties seem to go around the clock," she added, NOT explaining why it was important.  
Just making a logical case, in a logical manner.  
Fairness. George always did harp on 'fairness' since they were small.

 

"He's our Barrow, after all. Doesn't he deserve as much as Anna & Bates or Mrs. Moseley?"  
George nodded, as she'd known he would.  
"Of course he does."

Sybbie didn't mention what Daniel'd said.  
Her husband had finally (Finally!) been allowed a fairly open invitation to card nights with the oldsters.  
Andy'd dragged him along....Teddy being actually a bit younger.  
So it had seemed a decent sort of fit.

 

And after a few times there, Daniel had come to realize why some of Miller's cottage looked so comfortable to him. Why some of the things looked slightly familiar at times.  
They were his uncle's.  
Of course, the two were friends. Yet, the obvious conclusion could easily be reached by Daniel and Sybbie that the two were more.

And how absolutely inconvenient THAT must be, Sybbie had realized, knowing the ways of the big house all too well.  
Still, she didn't want to shock George too much;  
her cousin was an absolutely lovely boy, but still had always been conventional in his  
thoughts on matters of romance.

So after biding her time and waiting for an opening, this was her very, very careful way of trying to make the matter right.

 

And now, having delivered the offhand suggestion,  
Sybbie rode on for a moment alongside George, letting him get through the idea that  
their Barrow might not be there to take care of any & all emergencies at night.

"Let me think on it, Syb. Funny no one's mentioned it, but it isn't so much to ask I suppose.  
"The gardener has a place. The game keeper. I guess the butler's always lived in, but so did the maids used to be.  
"It's convenient for the family, but you're right to say it isn't Fair."

The cousins nodded, one to the other.  
There, thought Sybbie. If what Daniel thinks is the case, at least Barrow's not sneaking out like a thief in the night from his duties.  
Where he is will be no one's care.

-

Barrow himself was in his office, unaware the children were trying to revolutionize his nights.

"Barrow, I need to ask you for something that I can't talk about afterward."  
Clarey Bates stood in the doorway, face not quite capable of looking serious, but looking as serious as he ever could.  
(And the promise he'd not talk afterward would be a challenge he'd like to see, Barrow thought.)

"Go ahead."  
The butler sat with his ledger open, though he'd been ignoring it  
in favor of small Patrick toddling about on the floor.  
"Close the door, though. This one's a runner."

Clarey clicked it shut, having intended to anyway.  
(From the kitchen there was a frightful clatter  
as Young Mary, having come down, chopped and banged pots about trying to 'help.')

 

"Ah," he hesitated. Now the time had come, there was no way but through it straight on.  
"Edward needs a lock."  
Patty had agreeably toddled over to climb him, and  
Clarey had agreeably hoisted the boy up to swing him around.  
It was a fortunate distraction.

Now, Barrow had long since abandoned that absolute control over his features he'd perfected as a young man with too much to hide (and too few friends.)  
So he couldn't help the brief startled look he gave to the youngest Bates.  
"A lock?" he repeated.  
(Not that he hadn't known the two boys were somewhere, doing something. However, he didn't much wish to actually....think on it. And he didn't like too much that Clarey was somehow also...involved?)

Meanwhile Clarey allowed himself the full enjoyment of a moment with Patrick, making airplane noises and buzzing the lad two circles round (to the youngster's absolute delight.)

 

"Ah. Ah, yes," he managed as he slowed to catch his breath.  
"Lady Mary has one on hers. I don't see why all the bedrooms don't have them. Surely George...." he stuttered to a respectful halt.  
"Doesn't," Barrow answered. "And I'll not ask why you know about Lady Mary's room."  
(Spies! thought Clarey, who'd easily learned to 'pick' the locks when he & Edward had been adventuring as boys....not that long ago.)

"Well, he should. And so should Edward. Everyone deserves privacy. Perhaps even Violet, too. She was muttering something about locks before she took off on the train."  
At this, Clarey grinned at the older man, enjoying momentarily the flush creeping up his neck.  
"But in Edward's case it's...important."

 

Clarey knew Barrow would figure things out, once nudged.  
Even if he'd refused any direct information on the subject,  
surely he'd see the necessity of THIS.

And fortunately for them both,  
MaryMargaret burst through the door to the butler's office, as though proving that not everyone remembered their manners in every case.  
Rapidly tugging at her uncle to come to the kitchen quickly to see what she'd made.  
Clarey smirked.

"Locks," he said, airplaning young Patrick down the hall and away,  
leaving the older man to follow  
mulling whether he might be forced to have a Discussion with Edward about practicalities  
whether he wanted to or not.


	25. Chapter 25

-  
-  
-

The next day's kitchen rush was even greater than before--  
the women would be back tonight, and Lady Grantham's standards were far more exacting than her husband's when it came to dining.  
"Get out of here, you cheeky beggar," Daisy said, smacking at Clarey as he dove by, nicking a bite from the kitchen board.  
It was only mid morning, yet she was already beginning her pastries for dinner, everything in a whirl.

"Oi!," he said, ducking and grinning back as he crunched a slice of apple.  
"S' that any way to treat your favorite boy?"  
"Favorite boy," she muttered, scoffing.  
"As though that would ever be you, you daft aper."  
(But she took a cloth and gathered him up a handful of things, tucking the jumble up in an instant. Turned with a look NOT entirely unkind and handed them over.)  
"Get out of here, you!"

 

The words were still sharp, but Clarey could feel a break in the ice.  
For though the boy knew he'd never ACTUALLY be her favorite,  
she didn't seem quite so ready to bash in his skull with a pin....  
And the bundle of good things was another more tangible sign  
of better days to come.

So with that improvement,  
as well as the weight of worries about Edward lifted from his shoulders,  
Clarey Bates went whistling down the road to the village shops.

\---

The boys' days were moving at a rapid pace, holiday slipping past.  
They still had time, of course, but in Clarey's case was it time enough?

He went down the track, squinting up at the sky, popping one tasty bite after another in his mouth.  
And while he wasn't given to Overthinking things, it was definitely time to  
Mull things a bit, at least.

 

Now that he'd found Dolly amenable enough to allowing pursuit,  
he needed to try and think how they should proceed with life going forward.  
(For, thought Clarey, there's nothing to going over a cliff once one's mind was set,  
other than, perhaps, figuring out the best way of surviving the jump.)

\---

"I think if you make over your mum and dad's property into a cafe, with rooms above, you'd do best. It's far enough away from Downton to not pull any of our business, but still close enough that we could do some of the planning together."

Clarey'd found out something odd--asking Dolly for help on a question seemed to please her.  
It was as though by helping, by being allowed to 'know,' she was receiving a gift from him that made her FAR happier even than the usual frivolous gifts he'd brought.  
"Course, it's years away," she sighed finally. "You've college to finish, and your service. Though, of course, you could try to do farming instead of serve somehow else."

 

Clarey blinked his way back from the half of his brain that was studying the curve of her neck to the half which was studying his future.  
"What? Farm?"  
"You'd not be somewhere like Malaysia...and it's not a cheat," she said, almost defensively.  
"The commitment's longer and farmers ARE essential. Besides, the whole world's not at war any more."  
"We hope it won't be."  
"Mmm."

 

After a brief shiver ran down her back (for any thought of the Cold War and what might happen had that effect on the girl), Dolly continued.  
"You and Edward," she paused wryly.  
"Hmmm, of course."  
"Yes, it wouldn't stop you from what you'd thought to do. Him with the Abbey, you with a business.  
"Just....you and Edward could continue on in that one field which the army turned over during the war. Raise something small and experimental, try to improve production Or experiment with a specialty crop to make it more agreeable to animals or easier to ship."

Clarey stared at her.  
"Agriculture? They'd not let us get away with that sort of thing. They'd want the boys who trained in Ag schools."

"Phht. I've a pile of books on it. And horticulture is what Edward seems to like best, after all. Why not put it to use to keep yourselves home?"  
"I..." Clarey hesitated, brain stuttering over to both sides being fully on business.  
"I'd not thought of that."

 

"Mmm," she smiled. "You 'think,' and I'll see to the couple that just walked in."  
Getting up with a slight smile and a hand rested on his shoulder.  
"And more tea, with those sandwiches you like?"

Clarey gulped slightly.  
He might not need to plan the best way to survive going over the cliff after all.  
Dolly Parker was smart enough to be giving him the outline, so's all he'd have to do was flesh things out.  
And though he knew it was ridiculous, even knew it was blatantly untrue in objective fact,  
Dolly Parker seemed  
the most intelligent and  
beautiful girl he'd ever seen until now.

\---

Barrow was also dealing with practicalities,  
though not in the pleasantly dazed mood of Clarey Bates.

"The women will be back soon and it's easier done  
without them here, going in and out to change.  
"Lord Grantham finally left with Bates to some regimental gathering, and Branson's away to his shop."

"The boys?"  
"George is at the hospital,  
and Clarey went to the village, so the others are likely along."

Joe nodded. 

 

The game keeper had brought up things for dinner, officially his reason for being at the house.  
However, he'd also brought some things Thomas had stored down at the cottage--a hand drill, a file, some fiddly bits from when the locks had been changed during the time before.  
"Shouldn't you just call the locksmith?"  
"Which would take until tomorrow with Lady Mary back, which would mean explanations, not to mention rumors around town again about locks on bedroom doors."

Joe chuckled, remembering.  
If Thomas thought he could change things quickly and without notice, well, then,  
he could.  
"Need help?" he offered, though knowing the answer.  
"I've got it."  
Yet, his hands fumbled a bit, as he nervously looked through the kit he was packing to take upstairs and do the task.

 

"Children," he muttered.  
"Grown up," Joe comforted.  
"Still, it shouldn't have ME involved."  
Hand covering his mouth a bit so as not to let slip the laugh that threatened to come out, Joe patted Thomas's shoulder with the other one.

"I'll go listen to Daisy some more then, and how close SHE is to going mad."  
"Mmmm," Thomas muttered darkly. "Clarey."  
And huffing slightly, the two men went off in separate ways, thinking their conversation done.

\---

Upstairs was all over silent, and Thomas blended in having learned the way of absolute silence himself.  
Doors closed, as they ought to be after cleaning.  
A faint fragrance of polish and flowers, from the maids having already finished and gone to the more public areas downstairs.  
He'd be up for an hour at most, then back to his duties. 

Pity, really, with so many Real tasks to finish, but this was the best way--just to get the thing done and leave the key behind without comment.  
Except, of course, that wasn't what the gods had in mind.

 

"Barrow?"  
Edward looked startled, but not horribly so when the butler entered.  
Thomas, even sure of an empty room, had reflexively rapped twice on the door before continuing through.  
"Master Edward," he stopped, more caught out than the boy himself.  
"I thought you'd be out and about today."

The butler hadn't asked Clarey Bates what his plans were, of course, merely assumed where one went the other usually followed.  
(Not always these days, he reminded himself.)  
"No, just reading," Edward answered, tilting his head from his book to where the other one sat.

Misha, whose icy eyes looked curiously warm turned in his direction now.

 

"Hmm," Barrow paused, trying to decide whether to stay or retreat.  
(No, the plan was sound, even if this wasn't the sort of way it should play out.)  
"Your doors need work, I believe. I thought it might be more efficient if I just took care of things privately."

"Doors?" Edward asked, still truly confused.  
"Yes, the front and the interconnecting ones through. I'll just be a while, but you could always go downstairs to the library if I'll be a bother."

This said rather hopefully.  
(Truth be told, Barrow should never send a family member off, should delay his own work to suit their schedule, but if he did the game would be lost.)

 

"No, you're fine," Edward said agreeably, not noticing the change in procedure.  
Thomas nodded... The boy had always been one to go along.  
Nodding, not saying anything further, he decided to do the outer door first,  
sitting flat and starting quickly to work.

\---

"And how did you learn this?"  
Misha said it quietly, sitting cross legged beside Barrow, handing him a tiny sort of instrument from the kit.  
It was a simple sort of procedure, really, not surgery. Still the boy's keen eyes were focused on every move.

"Just always been good with fixing things. Started with clocks--most mechanical things are simple after that."  
The tightness in the butler's shoulders had eased fractionally.  
After a few fumbling starts, both boys had silently closed their books and come closer,  
Edward looking on intently the same way he had when Barrow'd read them stories back in the nursery room days.  
(How he wanted to reach over and smooth his hair back, cast a spell to make him that shy child once more.)

 

Thomas tried not to think about the 'whys' of the task and simply focus on the 'how' of it, rolling his shoulders slightly and continuing to tinker. Careful not to damage the wood of the door while getting the mechanism to bend to his will.  
Meanwhile, Misha watched every move, not only of Barrow's hands on the door latch,  
but also the brief flutters of emotion the older man worked to suppress.

"It's useful."  
"Not very, not for a guest." Thomas almost chuckled at the idea of the upstairs children taking to carpentry or mechanical endeavors...though he supposed someone would have to take Branson's place with the motor car business. (But that would be years from now.)

 

"When one knows how things work, one has a sense of Control, though. A sense of the orderliness."  
Looking over, the butler could see Edward nodding, relaxing.  
He didn't, however, comment, just handed Barrow another piece as they finished the work  
silently  
together.

(How Barrow wished he could always make him feel safe & protected. Tell the child he was loved.)

\---

"Clarey's ambling up the track and...." Joe started, rushing in to warn Thomas of impending 'incoming.'  
Three pairs of eyes pinned him from the door at the side of the room.  
Three heads tilted at an angle.  
(Fuck, Joe thought. I knew OUR boys had some of his mannerisms, but this new one has the head tilt, too.... That's rather unnerving....)

"He said he'd come back after seeing Dolly. We haven't yet gone out to check where Sam said the tree needs to be cut."  
This polite statement came from Edward, who'd cottoned on at some midway point  
that Barrow was adding locks to his doors, and why that might be the case.

 

(At first incredibly embarrassed the butler knew he couldn't control basic urges,  
then somewhat soothed by the normalcy of the procedure itself,  
Edward finally had decided that it was far better that someone who cared for him helped,  
than to go without help at all.)

"Do you need Barrow? I could try to finish up, unsupervised."

 

For that was what had taken Thomas more than his allotted hour.  
With an most foolish sense of pride, the butler had switched places with Edward,  
who with minor fits and stops and advice from his friend, was doing what he'd just watched done.  
(Slowly. Somewhat tentatively, having only seen it done the once, after all.)

"I think I can manage."

"I'm sure you can," Joe agreed, grinning slightly. "Though let's give it a few more minutes if you don't mind. I'd like to see what you three have been working on."


	26. Chapter 26

-  
-  
-  
A few days later,  
the younger set was in the library--the boys scribbling away, while Violet idly flipped through a book.  
She'd been in the sitting room earlier, helping to update the list of presents arriving, even writing out a few notes for Liz to simply sign.  
(Something a secretary might do on lesser items...so not a total faux pas, she'd managed to convince her mama.)  
That finished, however, Violet was bored.

"I don't understand why you do work on a holiday," she said irritably, glancing over at the boys.  
(Though given the morning's rain, there weren't many other pleasurable alternatives,  
at least for a while.)  
"We haven't been. That's why we need to catch up," Clarey grumbled.  
"It's not an assignment, not really. It's just something the old man mentioned we might do."

 

She sniffed, looking back at her novel.  
"Seems a waste."  
The silence gathered again--pens scratching, pages flipping, until Violet started up once more.

"That Sloane boy and Winthrop, do you know them? Mama and Aunt Edith were on about them during the train ride back."  
Edward's startled eyes met Clarey's, then Misha's.  
"Gennie introduced me to Sloane one night. He's quite a bore, but I haven't run across the other one. Have you?"

 

"Neither are worth your time," Misha said quietly.  
"No? Well, the Goggles one is already on my list for saying something rude. I'll make a note to add the second one as well."  
Violet muttered darkly something about 'burying them,' and flipped another page idly scanning on.  
Clarey chuckled. He wasn't sure exactly what being on Violet's 'list' would entail, but it couldn't be comfortable.  
(And reassured by the thought, he turned back to his work.)

"Sometimes it's best just to avoid a conflict." This, of course, from Edward, who somehow still felt any misunderstanding might be partially his fault.  
"And sometimes one must fight," Violet answered, looking intently at the boys for the first time.

 

Even ducking their heads to not meet her eyes, they looked....awkward, in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.

 

Now, Violet was quite sure the staff at college were looking after both her and Edward.  
(Barrow had contacts there from George's day, after all.)  
However, that didn't mean they could watch everything, all the time.  
Nor that they'd watch out for Johnny & Clarey, too.

Was there something true about Aunt Edith's whinging this time?  
Could they even be the boys who'd given That One of Johnny's his trouble?  
Not that she knew the boy's name, or that John knew his attacker's name, but still....surely there weren't that many Fools in a college as prestigious as theirs.

\---

Violet sighed and tried to clear her mind of worries;  
college wouldn't start back for weeks, and there was a wedding to enjoy.

So,

"On a happier note....  
"I suppose the wedding's still on. George looked like a thundercloud last night, but Liz was calm."  
(The boys seemed to relax as one.)  
"The late acceptances are coming in, and I think I heard mum say they hadn't had anyone at all decline."  
Clarey ran his hand through his hair and looked up again from his notes.  
"Will Johnny come back up that week end?"

What a question, Violet thought. (She hadn't considered he wouldn't, though it might be an inconvenience. )  
Still, "of course he will."  
They'd had a lovely visit in London, brief as it was and aggravated as Johnny was by work.  
"I hate to think of him on his own down there, anyhow."

 

"Not like he was ever away," prodded Clarey, teasing.  
"In the army," explained Edward to Misha.  
"Where he got shot," retorted Violet, then immediately looked crestfallen for having put such a memory out into the air.  
(She wasn't superstitious, of course, but such things just weren't to be done....Immediately she reached to touch wood.)

"In a war that's thankfully over," Edward soothed.  
"Besides he has to come to keep Clarey in line, and make sure he doesn't run off himself."

 

"Phht," Violet scoffed, gratefully accepting the change of topic.  
She'd tossed her book down and gone to the window, but turned now to look at the boys.  
"You were barely able to ask the girl out, from what you said on the way up."  
"I didn't say that..."  
"You did to Edward, and I was three feet away," she said bluntly.  
"Or at least that sounded like the problem. Then. Apparently though, you've managed to work things well enough."  
She smirked at Clarey. That amused, slightly condescending, sister look she'd come to wear occasionally now.

 

"We were simply talking about after college," he muttered, blushing some.  
"Three dates in and he's making PLANS," Edward nudged his mate, trying but failing to hide a grin.  
"They aren't 'plans.' They're just talk. But she seems to fit what I'd want....if we get to the planning stage. So there."  
"I tell you to slow down on kissing the girl straight away, and you do it.  
But now you jump over courting to talk about how to set up housekeeping when you finally settle down."

Clarey ducked his head studiously down to avoid his friend's amusement.

"Well, if she seems to 'fit,' maybe she does," was sister Violet's surprising answer.  
One couldn't help how quickly or slowly events made things fall into place, after all.  
"I suppose I'll have to have tea more frequently in town the next few weeks."

 

"Violet," Clarey growled, head popping back up.  
"Clarence," she replied, looking superior. (It would, after all, give her something to do.)  
"I won't make myself a nuisance. I just want to make friends with her. Grew up knowing the Parkers all my life, but I've not Thoroughly chatted Dolly up until now, have I?  
"And while you've undoubtedly made sure she'll fit in with Edward, she'll have to fit in with Johnny....and me, too. All of us, here."

 

Edward coughed slightly to hide a chuckle.  
Clarey groaned.  
Misha nodded.  
They were a complete set, this family, and one didn't just need to fall in love. One needed to fit into the whole of it.  
A large requirement, and yet at least Clarey's girl had grown up in the web of connections.

"She fits, though," Misha said, hiding a niggling worry starting at the back of his mind.  
(Would they say HE fit all of Downton fine?)

\---

"Has your John mentioned these two boys?" Lord Grantham asked Bates.  
He'd been in the north library to get a volume and overheard a good portion of the children's talk.  
And drifting back to his study where he'd left Bates, Robert thought he'd best question the man.  
"No, my lord, but Johnny doesn't say much."

The earl grumbled low in his throat.  
Edith had mentioned the boys steering Robbie wrong and that he needed a fresh start.  
She hadn't directly told HIM, however, the other boys were angry at the rest of theirs. (Just that Edward wasn't playing along....which to him meant he was steering clear, not under fire.)

 

Robert considered the matter now, in light of this new idea.  
Perhaps a note to the rogues' fathers might help, even if he wasn't on either man's list of friends? (Surely a casual mention, gentleman to gentleman, wouldn't go amiss.)  
"Maybe I can do something to draw a line under it before something worse develops," the earl noted.  
"We don't want anyone's boys being sent down."

"No, my lord," Bates agreed, walking slowly & carefully over with the regimental histories they'd brought back the day before.  
"First things first, though. Let's see if we can get something colorful put together for the meeting next month."

\---

Meanwhile the tone of the boys' day had unfortunately turned rather sour.

"Did I say something that has you upset?" Edward asked softly, coming up behind where Misha continued to sit.  
Violet and Clarey were both somewhere about, but for now the two boys were alone.  
"No."  
Just that one word.  
Kuragin had been comfortable enough with him these last few days, and had talked so firmly about everything being right.  
Yet like a switch flipping...now Misha seemed to be walling him off.

 

"Is there some other problem, then?"  
He chewed at his lip and watched the other boy, who refused to even give him more than a second's glance from the book he held before him like a shield.  
"I just..." Misha hesitated, finally glancing up before glancing down again.  
"I just need some time to think."  
"You didn't seem to be worried about things before," Edward said. "Didn't seem to have a problem with me."  
"No," Misha said. "I just realized how soon the wedding is. Then I realized right after that we'll be going back where we were."

 

"And?"  
"Just need to think."  
Edward stood looking for a few minutes, trying to figure things out.  
Failing that, however, he went for the door.  
Not sure what to say  
himself.

\---

"What're you doing hiding up here?" Clarey asked Edward.  
The boy was sitting in his bedroom, with books strewn around him from their trunk.  
At least the door was open, but still it looked like a 'retreat' to Bates.  
"Thinking, I suppose. It seems to be on the agenda for the afternoon."

"What?"  
"Misha decided to stop talking--not just the usual quiet, but back to that broodiness he had when we started a few months ago."  
"Lover's spat?"  
(Fortunately for Clarey, it was a relatively light volume on pharaohs Edward had chucked, for as usual Talbot's aim was true.)

 

"What? Haven't you still......made any progress? I thought that was what had you two chirked up these last two days."  
"Did. Was. He was talking, but now he's not."  
It was especially frustrating to Edward, who could usually suss out the reasons almost anyone did things,  
to be walled out by someone with whom he wanted to be close. 

"Hmm..." Clarey sat down on the floor, reaching and grabbing a book at random.  
For once,  
he might not have a clue what to say, but at least he'd make sure and sit a while.  
Lend his presence if nothing else.  
"Fine. Let's think."

\---

"I've brought coffee and biscuits, in case you'd like either one."  
Barrow sat the tray down next to the Russian.  
No one had rung. No one had said anything.  
However, about the third time he'd made a round and seen the boy in there scowling into the same section of the same book, he'd decided at least he should give it a try.

"Thank you."  
The boy's face had a perfect blankness that would do a servant proud. (Frightening to Thomas to imagine why a toff might have learned to do that.)  
The eyes, though. Not icy, not warm, just sad now. (Quite a change from before.)

 

"If you need anything else?" he offered, standing there, waiting.  
"No," the boy said. (Though Thomas still stood patiently, face placid & eyes kind.)  
"I've just...enjoyed my time here." (Thomas nodded.)

"I can't believe it's half way gone," Kuragin said carefully, as though making a critical admission.  
(Seeing the ending before it came, thought Thomas....acquainted with having done that.)

 

"I'm sure you'll be coming again, Master Kuragin. Edward doesn't abandon people,  
and he wouldn't have become your friend in the first place if he didn't think you belonged.  
"Now," Barrow said, warming the cup of coffee.  
"You'd best gather yourself together or you'll hurt the boy, anticipating a problem that isn't there.  
And none of us here will take kindly to anyone who hurts Edward.  
"Not kindly at all."

But Thomas followed the comment with a slight smile, and a nudge of the plate of biscuits, before asking again, "Do you need anything?"  
And when the boy said "no," a bit more calmly, meeting his gaze,  
Barrow nodded and turned to go along.

 

(He couldn't send them to Nanny after all--  
they might seem to still be children  
but they were no longer truly  
that young.)


	27. Chapter 27

-  
-  
-

Barrow hadn't 'fixed' things, of course.  
He wasn't certain what part of the boy's past had Kuragin so unsure of 'belonging.'  
(Feeling undeserving of things continuing  
and expecting to be eventually cast aside....)

But Thomas knew how HE'd come to look that sad way in the mirror sometimes.  
Back Before.  
(Yet his story wasn't Misha's, the man reminded himself,  
allowing empathy but NOT letting such emotions pull him back.)  
In any case, the butler knew biscuits and a hot beverage was merely a first step, not a cure to those sorts of feelings.

However, hopefully what he'd planned for today might keep the boys in the same room,  
making the NEXT step  
toward being comfortably together once more.

\---

"Miss Sybbie is bringing the children over, my lord," Barrow announced at breakfast.  
"I've asked Anna's son, Clarence to keep them entertained, knowing that you're working in the study and might have limited time for them to be with you."  
"Clarey?" Edward asked.  
"Yes, the staff has so much to do with the wedding, and Clarey does seem to have a way with Patrick."

 

"That's fine, Barrow," Lord Grantham said, relief evident in his voice. (As much as he loved his great grandchildren, he was, indeed, right in the midst of things.)  
"I'd help, but I'm at the shop," Branson said, with a regretful tone.  
"And I have Pigs today," Lady Mary added, causing her daughter to roll her eyes.  
"Really, mama, Misha will think you're a farmer."  
"We visited the farms, and I was most impressed," Misha returned, politely.  
"Well if you'd like to...." Mary started before  
Edward unexpectedly cut her off.

 

"No, now mama, you know we'll stay here if Syb is coming. Clarey can't take care of Patrick and MaryMargaret at the same time."  
"I suppose," his mother said. "I'll admit that the babies are far nicer....even than my pigs."  
(She said it smiling over at Tom, who willingly laughed at their ongoing feeble joke.)  
Then,  
"next time, Misha. And in any case, I hear you might be willing to put up with us Again in late summer. So you'll really see us a going concern when you come back."

Catching Kuragin's eyes, Barrow smirked.

\---

"Thank you, Sybbie, we needed this," Edward said, giving over and looping his cousin in a hug.  
Needed? Was there a catastrophe of which she hadn't heard?  
Barrow'd called and arranged with Daniel for the two of them to have an evening on the town, and that had only seemed mildly odd.  
(Usually the request came the other direction round, but still....)  
Needed?

A cheeky grin from Clarey reassured her.  
"Play time," he chuckled, almost rubbing his hands.  
Foolish boys, Sybbie thought--enough of an age difference between her and the younger ones to make her feel quite 'experienced' when put alongside.  
"Don't let your eyes off. You promise?" she said, bending to tug Patty's shirt from over his head to covering his belly.  
"Course we won't," Clarey declared, swooping to grab Whoops before he scrambled off.  
"We're good with the little ones, aren't we?"

 

She smiled watching the tangle. (Annie Philpotts was right. Clarey might not be a bad sort to match with their Dolly after all. If he'd get his 'exuberance' under control.)  
"I might as well live here again, in and out as I've been the last few weeks. Now the children here overnight."  
"Do," Edward said. "Move back, I mean."  
"Sheep on the front lawn?" she laughed at him. "No, it's fine as it is. And Ann'll take over when night comes, Barrow said."

 

And with one last check, Sybbie turned to go. (Still difficult for her, even though she'd let them stay before.)  
"We'll be careful," the Kuragin lad said so sincerely, she patted him.  
"Course you will," she said firmly. " Have fun?" 

It ended half giggle, half question.  
The three great boys should be fine, and if not, MaryMargaret was used to corralling Patty.  
(And an entire staff was downstairs. For heavens sake, she told herself. Go.)

\---

"Thomas, we've a tiny problem," Phyllis said, coming quietly by.  
"The children?"  
He was half way up out of his seat before he'd answered her.  
"No, now, nothing wrong, exactly. And not the children," Phyllis pursed her lips.  
"Just something I'm not sure what to do about."

She tilted her head and he followed.  
Up the stairs, through the main rooms, back toward the study without a word.  
"Thought Anna might get upset, and I didn't want anyone else to come across them."  
Phyllis paused, "I just really wasn't sure what to do."

 

Lord Grantham was in his usual chair, having nodded off with a book in his lap.  
Bates was slightly behind, having sat down and nodded off, too.

"Mmm," Thomas rolled his eyes, half way between amusement and exasperation.  
"Watch."  
Motioning her back out of sight, the butler made a loud noise, loud enough to wake both old men.  
From years of training, Bates came awake quickest, checking about him and rising to check on Lord Grantham, too.  
His lordship, meanwhile, was used to waking slowly, and not embarrassed at all that his valet would find him doddling off.  
Ignoring the matter completely, the earl just set them back  
on the task.

 

"His Lordship knows," she whispered, both of them moving away as one.  
"Course he does. They're friends, in their own way. And while it's never been fair about Old Long John, in the end it hasn't mattered much to the rest of our jobs."  
Barrow rubbed his eyes, not wanting to help Bates cover and yet feeling somehow he must.  
(Loyalty to Bates? Who'd've thought?)

"And you're right Anna'd get upset, so don't tell her. As long as Bates sits to the rear like that, he's probably fooled himself that he's not been found out himself."  
In a way it was like some other situations around Downton, even his.  
If it wasn't thrust into anyone's face, they could just keep moving  
smoothly along.

\---

Upstairs, things were going fairly smoothly, too.

"You aren't as good at tea parties as Edward," MaryMargaret criticized, though her tone was mild. (She had wrapped a chinoiserie shawl around her, enjoying the luxury of its very deep fringe.)  
"I've not as much practice, no doubt," Misha replied. (Frankly, however, he'd managed quite nicely in spite of it all.)  
"He IS at a disadvantage with the Limpet," Clarey allowed. (Balancing his six foot frame on the nursery chair and casually pouring 'tea.')

"Poor child's all worn out."  
Misha patted the boy, who was clinging rather stickily to his shoulder.  
(Indeed, making the small cups more difficult to manage in what Society would have thought the proper way.)  
"Miss Mary, you're very kind to include us as your guests," Edward diverted the girl with a nod and an exaggerated sip.  
"You're quite welcome," she replied. (Her oversized floppy hat threatened to take over her face and Mary paused for adjustments.)  
"And thank you for pouring, Sir Clarence."

Nodding, one to the other, they continued to drink their 'tea'  
and enjoy some lovely jammy things  
Mrs. Parker'd sent up.

\---

"Well, he couldn't give three young MEN plushes and send them to bed, so this is the next best thing."  
Daniel was fully aware of the value of babies as comfort objects,  
having spent days after coming home toting around his Mary (when the nights wrapped around Sybil couldn't quite carry him through.)  
"Don't know what this lot has to worry about, though. No real war. And college should be a gift, not something to go on about.

"Anyway, WE'll profit from a good distraction. Cinema. Dinner out. I've the hands set to take care of the animals tonight, now that the main work's done."

 

They drove on down the road,  
Sybil nestling into the crook of his arm as he steered with just one hand.  
"Mmm, no, I'm not too very downcast at the turn of events," she grinned up at her beautiful husband,  
dimples showing.  
"Though they may have miscalculated rather badly, if they expect to get any rest themselves."

He twirled a curl of hair round his finger, tickling at her cheek,  
and joined in her laugh.  
(Leaning in for a kiss.)

\---

"You'll need to read with me next. Ned's gone off to nap, too."  
MaryMargaret stood with exaggerated patience, waiting for Clarey to balance the last block atop the other in a complicated sort of building scheme.  
Clarey looked at her, then over toward Edward.  
Misha had drifted off under the warmth of Patty a while back, and Talbot had gone to take over the reading, budging in.  
Now Edward had drifted off, too, making a bit of a heap.

"All right, then," Clarey said, still full of energy.  
"What sort of story are we going to have?"

\---

It was over a half hour later, and Clarey's story was still going strong.  
Meanwhile,  
Dust motes were floating lazily down in the sunbeam over him when Misha awoke.  
He took a deep breath and tried to remember where he was.  
Blinked his eyes. Felt a comfortable warmth on his shoulder, but a bit of a crick in his neck. 

Patrick. Snuggly little beast.  
Misha blinked and yawned, listening to wild giggles off to his side.  
Clarey using an exaggerated storybook voice. Mary Margaret adding in parts, while Patty by turns giggled and said a word here and there.

 

Patrick?  
Misha came more fully to himself.  
Patrick was over there, so...  
Edward leaned against his shoulder, the comfortable warmth he'd felt.  
Ah.  
Misha considered the situation, and decided it could be laughed off in amusement--two weary "uncles" falling asleep on the job.  
And still half asleep anyway, Misha let himself drift off, enjoying the dust motes where they danced in the sunlight above.  
Feeling considerably calmed.


	28. Chapter 28

-  
-  
-  
A few days later and it was time for the other two young lovers to have someone attempt a 'fix.' (Or at least look things over.)  
  
"Oh, golly," Dolly Parker muttered, though something stronger came to mind.  
She smiled down at the child she was giving change and a lolli to, then up at her mum.  
"You two come back now, when you decide to celebrate again, right?"  
Still, she barely waited until the customers turned before  
she ran.

Well, rapidly walked really, bumping her hip into the corner as she went.  
Violet Talbot was coming down the sidewalk, looking in the shop's direction, and from what Clarey'd warned, the girl knew why. 

"Mrs. Hughes?"  
The older woman was resting over a cuppa in the kitchen, and she hated to bother her.  
On the other hand, a member of the Family needed a personal greeting anyhow.  
"We've company," she said quietly, leaning in,  
while the door of the cottage jingled a second time.  
"I think one of the Talbots is coming in."

\---

"I had an appointment in the village, and meantime decided I was in desperate need of tea."  
The girl smiled as she sailed in the Carson Cottage, knowing the front room was far quieter than Patmore's but with the advantage, of course, of having Dolly Parker at work therein.

"We've had quite a few thirsty people from the big house recently," Elsie Hughes said, showing the girl to a window seat.  
(I've never been impressed by your mother's grand ways, and I'll not be put on the spot by you, the old woman thought, putting a calm face on the matter.)

Violet looked a question at her.  
"Master Edward with Clarence earlier, trailed by the Kuragin boy. And your mother, of course, still comes by occasionally."  
(Because even if Elsie didn't entirely love the uppity minx like Charlie had, she still had a soft enough spot in her heart for the loyalty Lady Mary'd shown to the two.)

 

"Ah," Violet nodded.  
Forewarned then.  
"Well, hopefully they haven't eaten everything in stock, because I fear I'm a bit peckish, too.  
"Though, you do have someone to help?"  
The last was said mainly because that was her mission, but also as Violet didn't want to run the old woman back.  
She might be putting on the 'grand lady' bit today, but she'd still not want to be a bother to Mrs. Hughes.  
(Heaven help anyone who crossed Mrs. Hughes. They'd have both Barrow and her mama after then, after all.)

 

"Of course, Miss Violet. And I believe she's gathering things, but first perhaps you might tell me how Master George's wedding is coming along?"  
Wedding talk was safe and easy,  
and even though Elsie Hughes had heard practically every invitation sent, every menu choice made--first hand from downstairs visitors--she could still listen a bit to this child,  
while the other child in the back smoothed her hair....  
and, of course, made tea.

\---

"Here's tea," Dolly said. "And a selection of things y'might like."  
She smiled gamely at Violet, not willing to be impressed.  
Dolly'd seen the girl off and on her whole life, of course.  
Plus, Clarey didn't view her as a threat (though he HAD warned her of a possible 'interrogation') and Edward cared for her.  
"Can I get you anything else?"

"A second cup, perhaps, if you'd join me."  
That got a reaction at least.  
Not nerves or worry, just a considering look.  
"I wouldn't mind if I do," Dolly only  
half way lied.

\---

The pleasantries were readily taken care of.  
Dolly might be a cook's daughter, might've grown up on a farm, but she knew how to pour and have a polite chat.  
In addition, she was as well read (perhaps better) than Violet, though her accent wasn't as posh.  
And while she'd accept some people as her 'betters,' she wouldn't do it without there being proof of a cause...so after a bit of nerves at the start over the 'why' of the interrogation, Dolly calmed.

"No, I'm not wondering what he sees in you," Violet said, placidly.  
She'd steered the conversation around to Clarey easily enough. Been steered perhaps (a new feeling that.)  
"I know the boy well enough to be able to have some insight there. Besides, it's obvious you aren't without charms."  
The last was said wryly enough. The girl wasn't a raving beauty, but she had large dark eyes and a thick mop of hair that was far more fashionable than Violet's could hope to be.  
And she seemed to have a brain as well.  
(If she'd've been after Johnny Bates, Violet might have had her claws out, but since she was after Clarey....well....it was reassuring to see the boy had done so well.)

 

"No I'm not being 'kind,'" Violet said, to Dolly's polite demurrals.  
"I'm being honest. I don't wonder what he sees in you. I wonder what you see in him."  
And taking a sip,  
she was gratified to see a spark in the other girl's eyes.  
"Quite a lot, thanks ever so," Dolly snapped with the first real heat she'd shown since Violet's arrival.  
"Why'd you ever say something like that about Clarey? I thought you two were some sort of friends?"

(She got a little less polished when angry, thought Violet. Still, an honest reaction was always best.)

 

"We are. Which is why I'd be curious to find out exactly WHAT you see in him," she repeated.  
Violet wouldn't say it, of course, never wanting to hurt the boy's ego, but she'd watched other girls who either used him to get to Edward or just because they were attracted to his looks.  
She'd made short work of turning those chippies aside. (Sometimes she'd not catch them until a second or third date, because she was busy with her own Life, but still....she made the time.)

Clarey was serious on this one, and she hoped the girl was serious, too.  
Still, she'd have to prove up a bit to Violet.  
(For Barrow might be the dragon at the castle, but the girl at least kept her own sort of guard.)

\---

It had become rather quiet in the front room.  
The girls' voices lapped quickly over the other, rising and falling in what sounded like intense tones. Yet not necessarily bad.  
Back and forth it continued.  
The bell jingled once as the front door opened, followed by a quick exiting jingle and door close as whichever villager fled.

Mrs. Hughes, having given them what she considered to be adequate time came out finally.  
"Is there anything else, Miss Violet? I know you had someone to meet?"  
"Oh, goodness. I'm late, but I'm sure he'll wait for me," Violet responded.  
"No, thank you Mrs. Hughes. This was just what I needed to settle me.  
"I definitely enjoyed my tea."

 

Both girls stood, and Violet dipped quickly into her voluminous handbag putting a note on the counter and sailing out without waiting for change.  
"Well," Dolly said, fingers going up to hide the grin that was cracking her face.  
She rolled her eyes.  
"Well?" Mrs. Hughes asked.  
"I fairly knew he was serious already. But I suppose it confirms it, her coming here."


	29. Chapter 29

-  
-  
-

 

Day by day, the calendar kept moving them toward the wedding, however.  
Other matters, other loves continuing on, but no longer taking center stage.  
Ordinary events were no longer viewed as happening "Tuesday, next,"  
rather designated in accordance with how many days they were from the nuptials.  
So when it came to arrivals,  
that was simply more of the same. 

 

"Got a letter from Jimmy," Thomas said, flipping through the mail at the servants hall table, trying to regain some sense of calm.  
"That's good. Is he finally back?" Phyllis asked, continuing to quickly eat, knowing the assistant dressmaker arrived today with the wedding gown, and there would be an uptick in her work today.  
"He'll be back the day of, actually," Thomas rolled his eyes somewhat. "Though I don't know if I'd call that 'good.'"  
The rest laughed, thinking Barrow making a joke.  
He, however, had a reason for thinking the man should've held off til the day after the wedding, at least. 

(The reason Sam had sent Jimmy & Teddy away in the first place, the reason Thomas was covering beyond Christmas, was that Teddy's father might well be one of the guests.  
And that would certainly put a twist in the proceedings if the two of them came unexpectedly face to face.  
Of course, the lieutenant hadn't said so, but that was what the other men had decided--which meant the two had been hidden away at a distance, and if back would have to be kept locally hidden the same.)

 

Barrow, however, didn't seem much concerned about the matter now.  
Instead of focusing on the letter--smiling or frowning--he continued on eating rapidly, his only outward sign of agitation his left hand fingers tapping against his leg.  
As polite, his hand was below the table top, where it wouldn't be seen by anyone.  
Except Phyllis, of course, who sat next to him, and Daisy coming in with the bread.  
Daisy tilted her head and used her eyes to point out the matter to Phyllis, who nodded slightly, mind going off the Dress.

 

"The rest of it's under control, though, isn't it, Mr. Barrow?"  
They were at table with the full staff--filled out to a respectable force since Christmas.  
It would be too very obvious to get into specifics here.  
"Of course," Barrow said flatly, looking over, then up at the two women's enquiring eyes.  
"Every thing is just fine."  
(His tone gave the matter away.)

\---

"Good heavens, Robert, What did you do?" Cora Crawley asked, crossing the sacred boundary into his smoking room she was so perturbed. 

"Do?" the old man asked. (He was supposedly hibernating with books and a cigar, but was secretly playing with a puppy the grandchildren had conspired to have a fellow deliver just the day before.)  
"Do," she said emphatically, interrupting his crooning to the 'beautiful thing.'

"As in I have a letter from the Duke of Crowborough, accepting my husband's kind invitation for a visit," Cora frowned.  
And though her wide blue eyes had difficulty allowing her to show it, she was not happy.  
Not happy. At. All. 

\---

"Now Mary, for heaven's sake. You can't still be irritated by the man, after all these years."  
Tom had seen her exiting the house, mother going one way, while Mary swept out the front door  
so quickly the new footman almost didn't get it opened out of her way. 

"Mary?" He'd taken after her, and pried a few words out about a guest being added.  
(Tom, of course, knew the name and some of that earlier history. Really, though, Mary couldn't still be on about that.)  
"It's not what happened back then or what sort of man I suspect he is ," Mary said, clipping along down the path at a rapid rate--far faster than she usually did.

 

Beside her, Tom puffed a bit but kept up, waiting her out.  
" It's just....I don't want him in the house at all, especially at Georgie's wedding. Surely we don't want someone like that here--a dark cloud on a sunny day."

\---

"All right, then, what is it?"  
Daisy brought in the mandatory offering of tea, though she didn't really think it necessary.  
Thomas had taken up a tray to Lord and Lady Grantham, coming back from the smoking room a shade of himself...  
which was why she'd followed him and stood there now.  
He looked at the cook, keeping his mouth shut, giving her that glare SHE rarely saw. 

"Don't you look at me that way, Thomas Barrow. I know you're in charge and if I do something bad, you can glare at me, but not when it's something else."  
Daisy rarely played the 'family & friends' trump card, but she used it firmly now, then sat back and frowned herself.

 

Clocks ticked in a chorus, chewing through the minutes and coughing up the hour as it came.  
"Do you remember back before the war when a Duke visited? Crowborough?" he said finally, giving in to five feet of obstinance facing him.  
Daisy thought a moment, then nodded.  
Dukes weren't a common occurrence, even at Downton, so of course she could remember the man's name. 

\---  
"So is he bringing his family with him?"  
Daisy asked, having cut to more practical matters in spite of the intrigue. 

She'd heard of lavender marriages (once she'd started looking into the matter of 'men like that.')  
Had wondered why Barrow himself hadn't pursued one...though of course what he'd managed was undoubtedly more comfortable even with the dangers involved.  
Still, a man like that who'd chosen to marry--and twice, like Crowborough--Daisy had an active curiosity about the matter....about him and the women he'd wed.  
(And that Thomas "knew" him back at the beginning of things made it just that much more intriguing--really and truly it did.)

"Family?" she prodded.

The butler swallowed. "Didn't wait to overhear. I was too flummoxed."

 

The cook snorted.  
Barrow gobsmacked. If she didn't love him so much it would be funny.  
But she did and it wasn't.  
"Don't worry, Thomas," Daisy replied. "Lady Mary'll prolly make sure he doesn't come...or at least leaves rather speedily.  
"Sides, we'll just keep ourselves around you so thick you'll never even know he was here."

Standing then,  
and straightening her tiny self as tall as she could, Daisy came and gave him a hug.  
(Because there were times one must just damn the protocols.)  
"Don't WORRY," she said in her gentlest voice.  
" It might have been bad back THEN,  
but now it's not the same.


	30. Chapter 30

-  
-  
-  
"So I'll once again smooth over your mess while you hide behind your mother's skirts like a child."  
Philip Winthrop paced the music room of his London House sputtering and snarling.  
  
The house itself was grand enough--calm and quiet, in a good neighborhood, fully staffed, too.  
Bought with his first wife's money and kept up with his second wife's  
in the manner to which he'd become accustomed.  
Which was, of course, opulent, even moreso than most Englishmen would find in good taste.

For Philip found such things necessary, given the concessions he'd made as a man.

Ordinarily the duke found some solace in the brightly lit room, kept some small memory of who he'd Been alive when playing the grand piano of a night.  
This evening, however, he'd not been allowed to indulge himself, not been able to hide.  
"Do you have any idea how disappointing I find you now?"

 

David breathed slowly in and out, willing his face into a smirk.  
"Perhaps half the portion I find you?"  
He'd tracked his father to his lair, after all. Giving one last jab in case the old man would back down, cancelling his trip to Downton.  
"Besides why pretend you're displeased by going to see the Crawleys? You practically jumped at it when there's truly no 'mess' at all."  
The younger Winthrop intentionally flipped through a sheath of music, leaving it discarded, in disarray.

"Are you sure you aren't just going to gloat over me putting those boys in place?"

 

Philip stood and came until his chest practically touched his son's.  
Crowding him, forcing him to step back.  
"I'm no friend of theirs, but if it's enough of a mess you won't be allowed to go back to classes now."  
He turned, bumping him, gathering the music tenderly like the child he'd truly want.  
"And I won't gloat at another college down," he hissed stacking things precisely  
before turning for the attack.

David took the steps back, trying to keep it from looking like retreat.  
"Such an utter disappointment you are,"  
his father repeated,  
as he had periodically throughout the boy's life.

 

For his part, the young man felt a mixture of disgust and pain.  
He'd tried.  
Yes, he still tried to be like the man in front of him.  
To gain his father's love.  
Why could his father never see how skillful he'd become at control?  
How well he played his part?  
Instead, what should have been a laugh between the two of them was a failed attempt.  
Again.

 

Might as well finish the matter off, David thought.  
That was what he'd come in here for, after all.  
No chance of love, might as well be a full success at hatred.

 

"Say hello to the footman for me, if he's still there," and so saying  
David threw a packet of letters from a trunk in the attic on a nearby table.  
The coup de grace.  
Scattering like a fan, the hidden keepsakes he'd found as a child,  
now used with the practiced hand of a young adult.

Of course, he hadn't reckoned on his father's fist coming down quite so hard,  
but then again, he'd never had many gentle touches in his life.

\---

Meanwhile at Downton,  
another young man was worried about keeping his family's love.  
Love HE'd had his entire life, yet thanks to his father never felt absolutely secure.

"What if David says I tried to subvert him?" Edward said softly, flinching.  
Absurd, of course, and yet whose word would prevail?

 

"Why would he mention anything about ANY of that? You heard your grandfather at dinner, talking of 'going astray.'  
To him, it meant the sort of pranks they did...cruel things, being brutes, which is bad enough."  
Misha slouched beside Talbot, running a hand up and down his arm, aiming for comfort.  
Edward nodded, finding it both reassuring and sad that Donk wouldn't even think of another angle on the situation.  
(Not even consider a fact of his life that Edward thought of as a  
large part of who he was.)

 

"Your grandfather, though, poor fellow."  
The earl had actually apologized at dinner for any inconvenience at the wedding because of his meddling.  
The explanation was more to George than Edward--that two young men were part of the reason Robbie'd changed schools and he wanted it sorted.  
That he'd not intended an actual invitation, however, just a throwaway line at the end offering (if need be) to talk.

And George nodding along, oblivious to nuances,  
grinning at their irritation at an 'extra guest' not seeing any trouble himself.

 

"Your mother calling David a rotten apple from a rotten tree."  
Misha actually smiled.  
"Fortunate after all, he's not the friend you brought home."

Edward huffed, and then took a moment to stop whinging & lean into a kiss.  
He was lucky in his decision, true enough.  
Perhaps doubly lucky.

 

For he'd realized David might not just be narcissistic as a lover--manipulating to keep him close.  
But his mother's absolute belief the families were at odds for whatever reason  
made Edward realize David's aim in the first place  
might have been to humiliate him, have him as a trophy, not to win his love. 

"Not even an option,"  
was all Edward said.  
"Why want him when I realized I could have you?"

\---

"He's not a horrible man for being an invert. He's just a horrible man."  
Daisy'd taken to little talks to buck Thomas up.  
"But I'm a fool for not seeing it," he answered, continuing to scratch away at the ledger,  
too much to do to even take  
time to worry.

"Lucky, weren't you? Staying here, then, no matter how it might've seemed at the time."  
(It made sense really, a final puzzle piece of that episode  
back then when Thomas had taken so to drink and acted so desperately bad himself.)  
"What say I put figs in the soup when he comes? Switch the tureen in and out behind him--not like Lady Mary'd give it away from across."

 

Thomas considered a moment, but only that.  
And only to briefly enjoy a smile.  
"No. We'll get him out without problems. Else our children might suffer.  
Much as I'd like revenge, I won't do anything which might cause that."

And nodding, Daisy made her way out,  
until the next time she thought he  
might need tea or  
friendly talk.

\---

"They'll suspect about the other eventually, don't you think?  
About you? About us?"  
Misha's voice cracked a bit in nerves on the last word.  
When had he ever dared hope an 'us' was possible for him?

"And they'll still love you," he said hopefully. (Hopefully?)  
"Look at Violet and Clarey--nary a ripple out of either of them.  
And how everyone is with Barrow, too."

 

To Kuragin, Downton seemed a magic sort of place like he'd never imagined.  
A safe place out of a storm.

"Accepting a butler isn't loving a son,  
and Clarey'd back me whatever," Edward said simply.  
"Violet takes life like it is head on.  
"But my family....has this idealized way of looking at life--even when no one really manages to live that way."

 

He laced his fingers through the other boy's, anchoring the two of them together.  
"I'd just not trust testing it now.  
You know I'd die if they couldn't love me--if they looked at me differently once they saw who I really was."

No, thought Edward,  
they'd just have to wait and see how things went, once the duke came,  
once the stone was dropped into the pool and the ripples scattered around.


	31. Chapter 31

-  
-  
-  
The duke was more muscular than most toffs, was Andy's impression.  
Powerful in the way he moved,  
which a first glance at his height and still-boyish features didn't foretell.

It was the day before the actual wedding and all the overnight guests were arriving.  
(Gently being acclimated as servants unpacked, brought tea, fetched this and that.)  
Yet in spite of the others, Lord Grantham still felt a full and traditional welcome was incumbent on them for the visit of  
a Duke, even one unintentionally invited and somewhat despised.  
  
Therefore, for a few moments at least  
the entire staff had stopped all other duties and turned out, starched & at attention.  
Watching as Crowborough came to call.

 

"Your Grace,"  
Barrow'd opened the door to the vehicle as Andy went around and waited for the driver to open the boot to give access to whatever luggage was there.  
Thus, through the window, then over the top of the thing, Andy had a clearer view than the rest  
as the two men sized each other up--the duke smug and the butler tense.  
There was just a flicker of something when...

 

"Welcome back to Downton," the earl interrupted, coming forward and breaking the spell.  
"We're all so very glad you could make the extra time."

It was a bald lie, but Lord Grantham delivered it well and led Crowborough  
the few steps to where the others stood.  
"I appreciate the invitation, Lady Grantham," Philip said to his hostess.  
"I'd really only meant to finish some business with your husband. How delighted I was to find it intersected with the marriage of your grandson."

Cora's murmurs of welcome blandly smoothed over any rough edges to the situation.  
"Speaking of which, may I introduce George and his fiancee, Elizabeth."

 

They stood together in the sunlight, so young and happy it almost made the duke take a step back.

"Glad that you'll be able to enjoy our day tomorrow," George said  
and  
"Do come in. You must be exhausted from travelling," Liz added, a neat double act,  
having now said this same line to several guests in the great hall.  
(Everyone coming had been greeted, after all, though not with this depth of fanfare.

And in the end, they still all simply  
went through the door.)

"Welcome. Yes, do come in," encouraged Lady Mary, walking up with Tom as entry was accomplished.  
"How VERY long it's been."  
And while Mary's features held the look schooled into her by her governesses,  
no one could ever quite teach her how to control her eyes.

 

"Lady Mary, enchanting as always," Philip smirked.  
Her slight rudeness at not being outside to greet him en famille amused the man.  
(His first wife had been like that, strong willed and proud. Independent.  
If she hadn't been taken by Spanish flu, Crowborough imagined they'd have managed their Individual lives quite well.)

"My daughter, Violet, and my son, Edward, whom I believe YOUR son's come to know."  
Philip nodded and smiled, comparing the two to his David's stories, then looking up to see Barrow had halted behind them, an absolute glare in his eyes.  
(Hmm, the duke thought. Let's see about that.)

 

"Lady Grantham, I hope it won't be too very much bother. I'd originally only intended a short stop for business, so I didn't arrange to travel with my man."  
"I think we have a solution to that, don't we Barrow?" Lady Mary cut in, looking over.  
"Yes, my lady," the butler nodded.  
(Ah, Philip thought, expectant.)  
"We have Mr. Moseley with us to help guests for the length of the wedding. He was my late husband's valet, and is very experienced. I think he'll suit you quite well."

Behind him, the duke could swear Lord Grantham stifled a laugh.

\---

The first true gathering came two hours later when they met in the drawing room.

Drinks and candlelight. Soft music playing in the background.

Yet,

"This is not as much fun as usual," Edward said to Misha in an aside, as the other boy murmured agreement.  
While he didn't enjoy being in the Center of a gathering, Talbot still enjoyed people.  
Doing what Clarey'd termed "Crawley-ing Around," seeing to the well being of individual members within the crowd.

However, Edward didn't favor conflict,  
and a distinct feeling of tension was underlying even the simple cocktail hour.

(The older man hadn't seemed to treat him badly when they'd first met. Yet with he & Donk agreeing to wait until after the wedding to actually discuss things....it was still too soon to tell.)

 

"David's father must be what he'll look like when he grows old," Misha noted, trying to distract him from the undercurrents.  
For his part, Edward huffed, then stared at Kuragin, distracted indeed. Chuckling a bit under his breath even.  
"What?" the boy asked, hand going to straighten his tie.  
"Just imagining a few more decades away, how you'll look when we're older men"  
And forgetting for a bit any other concerns, Talbot smiled triumphantly as Misha looked down, pleased & surprised.

 

Meanwhile across the room,  
Liz and George now knew there was something more than an intrusive last minute guest going on, no matter how much people tried to hide any hint of problem from the bride.  
"Sybbie, thank heavens," Liz exclaimed, as the other young woman entered, late and a bit windswept.  
"I swear I'm stealing the next vehicle in the drive and leaving now."  
This last bit was under her breath as Liz linked an arm with Sybil and walked to a corner.  
"Now, now," the young mother said, smiling and patting, used to calming a case of the wobblies.

"Daniel and I are here tonight and all of tomorrow to back everyone up somehow."  
Liz rolled her eyes.  
"Listen, first things first. Let me go declare sides and get a drink. Then I'll be right back and we'll talk a while."

 

The bride allowing her, Sybil marched across to where she'd seen her Barrow being motioned by the Duke for refreshments.  
Drawing her Crawley arrogance and her Branson impudence about her like a cloak, Sybil approached the men cold. 

"Barrow, we've just got in and we're parched. Could I bother you for something?"  
(She smiled up at Thomas, really wanting to claim him more thoroughly right there, Georgie jealous or not.  
But she had other priorities right now.)  
"I'm Sybil, by the way, George's cousin."  
This to the man whom--from her absolute lack of ever having met him--she took to be the duke. 

 

"Philip," he said, playing the game back, then looking up into the eyes of the young man who came up behind her.  
"My husband, Daniel," she smiled, not an unkind girl ever,  
but still enjoying it just a bit watching the older man react.

"Daniel?" Philip stuttered (the young man so much like the Thomas he remembered)...

as...

"Your drinks," Barrow smirked, having returned with two.

\---

I've skipped a significant part of the story somewhere, Philip thought.  
He had moved himself over to Lady Northbrook, nodding and making the usual noises of encouragement with his mouth whilst following Thomas with his eyes.

It wasn't just the stunning physical similarities with the husband of the child called Sybil.  
He watched the way George--Lord Downton, rather--looked at the butler, grinned up at him, as though the sly oily young footman had become...beloved.

The younger boy, too, and the guest who must be the best friend David blithered about. They all seemed quite comfortable around him.....Perhaps Philip should've listened more carefully  
to know the relations between the youngsters his son went on about.

 

"You keep looking over at Barrow. Do you need something with which I can assist?"  
The girl--Violet--came from behind him as he took up his third drink from a tall doe eyed footman.  
(Sighing relief, Lady Northbrook saw a chance for a more interesting conversation and moved away.)

"No, I'm quite..." he raised his glass "...fine now."  
"That's good," she said, standing quietly examining him, holding her drink.  
"Lovely weather," he started, wanting to tell her to go away.  
"Yes," she agreed, continuing the examination.  
"Nice for your brother's wedding," he tried.  
"Quite," she agreed, keeping her tone clipped and allowing the silence to lengthen.  
Distinctly uncowed.

 

The gimlet eyed look went up, down, raking him over.  
Then with a sniff that sounded distinctly insulting, she nodded.  
"So nice you could come to visit our grandfather. I do hope you manage to work things out."  
This before moving off, as though she  
(younger, inferior in every way)  
had left him dismissed.

 

Philip gulped his drink and straightened his shoulders.  
"I believe we're ready to go in," Cora said pleasantly from across the room.  
And irritated, the duke found himself partnered to walk in with that sister of Mary's.....Edna? Edith? What was it?

And as her eyes shot daggers at him, Crowborough realized  
this was not at all going how  
he'd thought.


	32. Chapter 32

-  
-  
-

 

They'd left him in the corner after only the briefest hesitation.

Lady Grantham had indicated by a polite "goodness, look at the hour" that everyone was to go up for the night.  
And everyone did....except the Duke of Crowborough,  
who was somewhat collapsed in a comfortable chair in the corner niche, alone.

Cora rubbed between her eyes with delicate fingertips.  
The man was not only a bore, but couldn't hold his alcohol.

As a good hostess, she should somehow manage to wake him.  
As a good hostess, she might ring for a valet to help him up to his room.  
As a good hostess....  
Cora sighed. 

 

The lights were low and only Robert remained to see her make the decision.  
"Let's go up, shall we darling?" she asked softly, taking his arm.  
His blue eyes twinkled.  
"Certainly darling, let's do."

\----

Of course, Mr. Moseley noticed he was missing a duke straight away.  
The poor man was no longer used to service, was used to some sort of respect as a teacher.  
And now, here he stood around waiting half the night for some man to come up the stairs and be helped out of his pants.

Still, as Thomas had said, it was more senior than his usual help with footman duties.  
More fitting to his dignity.  
Yet, what dignity was this?

 

"Duke's not done?"  
Phyllis stood, puzzled beside him from where she'd exited Lady Grantham's rooms to go down.  
"Not even returned."  
Moseley gnawed a bit on his thumbnail, not wanting to be vulgar, yet still needing to get it out.  
"What if he's not coming back to his room at all?"

"He'd have taken his clothes if he'd left for home," she smiled.  
"No, not left exactly, just..." Moseley cursed his tongue for tying itself once again, coughing once or twice to loosen it.  
"Not coming back to HIS room," he emphasized.

 

"Oh," she bit her lip to hold back a laugh.  
"Well, the guests are paired up already, but I'll check the maids and you check the footmen..."  
She let go the soft chuckle at his appalled face.  
"Really, Joseph," she said, pointing him toward the staircase.  
"I'm sure there's nothing untoward going on. We'll just tell Barrow he's not in his room,  
and then go to sleep ourselves."

\---

Philip. Not in his room.  
Shite.  
The butler was in the servants hall enjoying what he'd thought finally would be a peaceful moment amid the turmoil of his life.  
The fire. The rocker. The newspaper--unread, but at least he'd opened it on his lap.

Now, Philip. Not in his room.

"Thank you, Mr. Moseley. I'll keep an eye out for him. But we can't exactly police a grown man."  
Surely Philip had engineered this, and yet Thomas still had to make his last walk and lock things up. (Lights didn't turn off by themselves no matter what the Family might think.)

\---

The butler knew how to be silent, knew every corner of the house and deployed that knowledge now.  
Quietly, room to room, he'd glance in, glance around, make a brief note of what still needed to be done before the ceremony tomorrow.  
(The ceremony he was being distracted from enjoying, he muttered to himself.)  
Room to room, becoming both more confident as each one turned up no surprises....and yet less confident, knowing the next one had higher odds of Philip being there.

 

He didn't think the sitting room held any danger.  
After all, if Philip had been left there, the family would've been delayed themselves, or  
at least would have rung for him before going up.  
So in the case of this room, Thomas went in feeling fairly relaxed with it....  
and was, of course, surprised.

He was already a few feet in when he stopped,  
hearing breathing.  
It was so silent at this time of night, he could hear the soft in and out of it, though it wasn't even a snore.  
Just a snuffling sort of noise over a few pops of the fire, now burning low.

 

Barrow stood where he was, scanning, until he located the source of the sound,  
moving forward on cat feet until he could see that Philip was simply....asleep.  
Passed out more like, Thomas thought, getting a closer whiff of the man.  
And still, he stopped again a few feet away, contemplating what was best to do.

Of course, he could leave him.  
(Let him get a crooked neck along with a banging head tomorrow.)

Lady Grantham had apparently not noticed him in the corner and had gone up, so couldn't the same excuse be said for staff?  
Not for Moseley, though. And ultimately not for him.  
Shite, he thought.  
Double bloody fucking hell. (He paused.) Shite.

 

"Wake up."  
Thomas flinched slightly as he spoke the words, which sounded louder than ordinary in the silence.  
"Philip, wake up."  
There was no one around, thankfully, since the man's christian name simply came naturally from his mouth.  
(How long had he dreamed of him? How long had he bitterly mourned the loss?  
Decades now, and some tiny corner of his heart still held the scar.)

"Wake up. NOW," he urged, getting angrier with each attempt.

 

The duke bleerily opened an eye.  
"Wha..." the word came halfway out as he focused.  
"Wake up. You need to go to bed."  
Decision made, Thomas went to put the breakables on the side table a bit further away, and pull the man to his feet.  
"You," Philip said, smiling.  
"Going to be my valet af'all?"

"No," Thomas snorted, the man had clearly gone round the bend.  
"But I'm hauling you up the stairs so you're in the right room at least. Otherwise you'll blame the staff somehow."  
"You," Philip smiled more lasciviously.  
"Should be in th'right room yourself."  
"Idiot," Thomas hissed as the duke turned toward him,  
suddenly not leaning as much for support as for intent.

Lunging,  
grabbing a bit.

 

"Get off of me, you absolute arse. Do you really think I'd just drop everything and fall into your bed again?"  
He shoved the man back as he said it, with enough force to trip him back into the chair.  
For Philip still might be a bit stronger than Thomas, but he was already half off his feet drunk.  
"What? You think I'm just some lonely, pathetic sort who'd do something like that?"

And if he hadn't been staring at the man,  
hadn't been telling him off face to face,  
Thomas wouldn't've noticed the shadow that passed behind Philip's eyes.  
So quickly, hidden and gone in the darkness.  
(Brown eyes, flecked with gold, as Barrow remembered.)

 

Trying to straighten, trying to sneer,  
Philip made a rude sound with his mouth.  
"No, you're not lonely. The one who everyone seems to love. Tha's you."  
He pushed himself back up onto swaying feet.  
"I can see m'self to bed, thanks awf'lly."  
And he took a few weak steps forward, eyes gone to his uncooperative feet,  
before Barrow gave over again.

"I'll get you up the stairs and into the bed and then you're on your own."  
His voice was still irritated.  
Now, though, the irritation was mainly at himself, for helping this man who'd once shredded his heart.  
(Yet could still pull him in to feel pity.)  
"I'm going to put your arm over my shoulder to steady you, but I swear, Philip, if you try anything again, next time I'll leave you on the floor."

 

"Hmm," the duke agreed, eyes at half mast.  
And after a few steps, "David hates me."  
"When've you ever cared who hates you?" Thomas snorted.  
"M'son, though. Would've been nice t'have him Not."

"Then tomorrow start making that happen. God, you're impossible. You're rich and have a child of your own and you're still complaining to me about how sad YOUR life is."  
"Sad," Philip agreed, nodding and looking over at him.  
"You've never been so sad, Thomas."

 

They were halfway up the stairs or Thomas would have pushed him away and left then.  
Never been so sad? HE'D never been so sad?  
Barrow wanted to pummel the arse, but the man was clinging to him and turning half filled eyes his way.  
Thomas sighed.  
"Tomorrow. It's never too late as long as there's that."  
And with an impatient yank, he pulled the man on.  
The evil prick of a man...who somehow still  
he wished he could help.

\---

"Well, you look like you're rat legged. Smell a bit like it, too."

Barrow'd gone back to the servants hall, having left the lights on.  
His tea was undoubtedly cold, the fire probably dead, and the paper would remain unfinished.  
"What in blue hades happened to you?"

 

Joe was standing there.  
Thomas blinked twice to make sure of it, pushing his hair out of his face with slightly shaking hands weary from too long of a day and too many emotions still whirling around.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Was here before a bit, but you'd not managed to get down. So I left and came back again."  
The man grinned. "Twice."  
"Someone trained me that it's a good thing to keep an eye out....and if there's a duke involved, it seemed High Stakes cards."

 

Thomas started laughing.  
That odd laugh that comes when one is tired and wants to weep  
but they laugh instead.

"Hard day, then?"  
And looking carefully about (though he'd looked thoroughly before),  
Joe went over and took Thomas into his arms.  
"Yes. A bit difficult," Barrow sniffed, then gave a bit of a strangled laugh again.  
Miller pulling him closer, wrapping him up in himself.

 

It was warm there, in spite of the chilliness of the room.  
And Joe's heartbeat was like a clock ticking just for him.  
"We're luckier than a duke. Who'd've ever thought it?"  
he finally managed. 

"Fucking toff....of course we are," Joe said surprised.  
"Luckiest bastard in the world aren't I, being with you?"


	33. Chapter 33

-  
-  
-

Barrow woke up in his room alone, with the briefest hint of a bad dream stalking him into consciousness.  
A pale, milky light was falling through the window and some fool bird was trilling nearby.  
Good weather then, he thought.  
Everyone would be pleased.

Thomas himself, however, was feeling hollowed out.  
(He'd need the memory of Joe's arms about him, getting him through the morning.)  
It wasn't just the overall scurry--things were mainly sorted for the guests to come.  
It wasn't even Philip--who'd undoubtedly wake up both with a thick head and with regrets about what he'd admitted when he talked. Humanized.  
No, for Barrow, really, he was finally having that moment of realizing  
George WAS getting married. HIS George. The tossle haired little golden child who'd once roamed these halls.

 

Of course, Master George hadn't been that for years.  
He'd gone to college (where Barrow desperately wanted to interfere.)  
Then he'd gone off to war (A disaster if ever there was one. Not only for the world, but for leaving his boy somewhat broken afterwards.)  
And he'd be back shortly, not to leave the Abbey again, except as he wanted.  
It all would be right.

 

"Stop being an old woman about it and move," he muttered to himself, sitting and swinging his legs over the side.  
Liz brought a smile back to their boy's face, after all.  
And she had that not-raised-upstairs, yet belongs-upstairs quality that would see them through.  
"It's George's big day," he lectured himself, stuffing feet into slippers and rising.  
"You need to make sure it's a perfect one."

\---

Meanwhile  
Violet was lying in bed, trying to gather her ill humor around her for being awakened at so early an hour.  
It wasn't easy, however, for even Violet wasn't immune to the appeal of being licked awake  
by a pup's enthusiastic kisses.  
(Not the kisses, however, she'd like.)  
"Hatty, stop that now. Who let you in, you little beast?"  
The dog looked at her as though considering an answer, but then continued the half-growling, half-licking assault.

"You're Donk's. If you're going to sneak into anyone's room and wake him, it should be his."  
(The pup disagreed, dodging back and around.)  
Violet suspected her irritating trespasser was Clarey. Perhaps even Edward, put up to the "delivery" by his pal.  
They both knew that John rang last night, saying he'd be delayed from coming...might not make it at all.  
(Logically, it shouldn't matter.  
They'd all be back south in a few days, back to the routine of classes and seeing each other in any case.)

 

Yet they'd both noticed she'd had a sulky moment or two of it.  
And she suspected this attempt at jollying her up was the result.  
"Hatshepsut, you stop," she said, firm tone undercut by a chuckle as  
the puppy's paws trampled over her.

Silly thing had decided SHE was its mother, Violet snorted.  
(She had never once been recruited for nanny duty when Sybbie brought her children by.)  
Still, Donk HAD let her name the ball of fluff.  
And now the dog sat there, almost human in its considering pose. Adoring.  
And seeing the smile, seeing Violet awake and fully focused,  
Hat sat back on her haunches,  
work done.

\---

Of course, even at the early hour,  
downstairs in the kitchen the Parkers had already made a start.  
For himself, Andy'd always disliked mornings, but farmers' hours had fully imprinted themselves into his brain after all these years.  
And his wife had always been able to run on a handful of sleep and pure energy.

"Odd waking here, instead of home, innit?" Daisy asked, kitchen lights on and pans of rolls already in.  
"Mmm," Andy answered, sipping his coffee. "Like we never left. Like we were young."

 

"Daft," she murmured under her breath, yet grinning.  
Then she gave a bit of a shriek as he put down the cup and in one smooth motion, put his arms about her.  
"Daisy girl, they're playing our song."

First leaning back, then turning to face him and encircle him in turn,  
"Daft idjit," she murmured, grinning more fully.  
The wireless was playing low in the background.  
Crop reports. Prices and predictions.  
And still they stood there, swaying. 

 

"No music even," she whispered into his chest, in the spot where she'd come to fit so well.  
"I hear it," Andy said, humming a bit to illustrate.  
"Like when I was out in the desert and the stars sang to me, telling me you were the one."

\---

Clarey backed away from the doorway, trying his best not to make a sound.  
Not the kitchen then.  
And he'd already managed to get the pup in to Violet's room.  
Didn't want to wake his parents, even a half hour early, noticing how tired his dad had become, how fitful his sleep.

Usually, he'd go sneak in Edward's room.  
Clarey snorted. No, not today.  
Check on George, perhaps?  
Would the groom be up and nervous this early?  
Clarey didn't want to be a bother, of course, and  
George always thought of himself as so very much older.

 

But perhaps he'd need something this morning, perhaps Clarey wouldn't just  
be in the way.  
And he was at loose ends with all of this energy.  
It promised to be such a lovely day.

\---  
\---  
\---

"And we're off," Barrow said from the head of the table as bells began to ring.  
He looked over at Moseley.  
"Take a powder with you, and if he gives you any trouble, get Mr. Bates from across the way."  
(If Philip said anything untoward, Thomas'd rather have Bates hear it than the newer man.)  
Moseley nodded and started to leave.  
"Mr. Moseley," the butler stopped him.  
"If the two of you can't handle it, come and get me."

 

"How long's he here?" Andy asked from his elbow, shoveling in food, watching back and forth between the bell board and Thomas.  
"Until tomorrow. Probably. He and Lord Grantham will have a chat, either this afternoon or tomorrow morning late.  
"Since it's about the children at college, they'll need things sorted before the next term."  
The footman nodded.

"I'll be glad when he's gone," Andy said, then realizing it sounded far too specific.  
"Of all the guests he seems the most demanding one."  
And then more bells sounded,  
and the table emptied  
everyone racing to their jobs.

\---

"It will be fine, Master George, really."  
Barrow looked over and glared a bit at Clarey Bates for whatever left footed comment the boy'd made.  
"Georgie," he said firmly, actually putting his hand on the boy to pull his attention.  
"It will be FINE today."

The young doctor's room was a whirlwind of things which had an hour ago been packed.  
"I need to look it up again, though. I need to check on whether I got it done...."  
"You did. It's fine. Everything's taken care of. And I have the address, too, so you know I double checked."  
The butler looked into the young man's eyes in a way he hoped the boy found reassuring.

 

The idea of a European honeymoon had appalled George, who'd seen the wrong side of the continent his last time through.  
He and Liz had secretly substituted a cottage on the other side of York, pulling the butler into their conspiracy. (After all, Donk wasn't young. Neither was granny. And Liz had some mothers almost due.)  
It would allow them to get to know one another, be out and about where few people who knew them would ever go, and do as much or as little as they'd like.

"It would put a crimp in things or I'd just put you and the bride in a motor car and say 'Go.'"  
Behind them Clarey gave a half laugh.  
"Well, they'd not be married, would they?" he said defensively as Barrow's irritated grey stare swung his way. "Not to mention the guests."

 

"Could just go to Gretna Green. Every blessed person for the last three months has been joking about it, and this...this....ceremony is out of hand. Sybbie didn't get tortured this much, and even mama's wedding to Henry was smaller."  
George pulled Barrow's attention back.  
"No. Now, it's simpler to just go through the steps of it now," Barrow said soothingly.

The butler didn't dislike weddings as much as he once had.  
Plus, he'd been through enough of them to be fairly knowledgeable.  
"And if this doctor of yours rings that he's delayed again, we'll just substitute someone else as your best man."  
"You?" George said hopefully.  
Barrow rolled his eyes. "Master George....my lord."

 

George frowned, feeling the line between them again.  
"Daniel at least?"  
"Could be managed. But surely Dr. Carroll will make it, even if he HAS been in surgery all night. Doctors do, after all."  
The butler, patted the boy once again on the shoulder, then turned it into more of a brushing movement, as though merely the touch of a proper valet.

"And you, Clarence, can repack all of this, since you somehow caused the uproar."

\---

"I told you I need to see Barrow," the growl came through the half opened door as Moseley cringed.  
"The devil's in that one," he muttered to Bates who leaned on his cane nearby.  
"Mr. Moseley, really," Barrow tutted,  
coming up behind them in the hall on his way from George's room.  
"I'll take over the duke, and you go with Bates to see after his lordship. Everyone's at sixes and sevens with the wedding today."

(Then, squaring his shoulders, Thomas went in.  
I'll not play coward to the likes of you, Philip, he promised himself.)

 

"You required assistance, your grace?" he said, face blanked into Proper Butler, though he intentionally allowed a  
hint of sarcasm in his tone.  
Philip was slouched in the chair by the window, an empty glass on the floor halfway across the room.  
(Probably threw it at Moseley...carpet wasn't damp, though, so he'd taken the powder at least.)  
"No matter what you think of me, I will NOT be dressed by dithering old man one or doddering old man two," he grumbled.  
The tone not quite as angry as the one with which he'd yelled after Moseley. 

Which Thomas took as a fairly good sign.

 

"Philip, you can't expect Downton to supply you with a nubile valet every time."  
This was said blandly as Thomas went to the drawers and began to lay out the duke's things.  
Smirking.  
It took a moment before the other man caught it.  
"Nubile, were you?" he grumbled, then gave way to rubbing his hands over his face.

Somehow his drunken rambling last night had made them equals once more.  
Winthrop both disliked and liked the feeling.  
He preferred power, of course. Preferred control. These things made him far less pathetic to himself when he looked in the mirror.  
Still, it was somehow comfortable to have someone whom he'd bent to his will, but had never apparently broken.

 

"Yes," Thomas said, daring a slightly feline smile at the memory.  
"I'm not anymore, but once I was."  
And coming back around, he headed toward the lavatory.  
"I'll run you a bath, but you'll have to hurry if you're to be put together before breakfast's come."

"And if I tell them you've been inappropriate? Hint at what sort of man you really are?" Philip asked, trying just for a moment to get control back.  
Thomas turned at the door, actually chuckling.  
"The family knows, most of the downstairs, too. And frankly, Philip, I suspect quite a few of them--even the wedding guests--know about you."  
Imagining he heard a whoop of victory in his ears (profane and purely Joe's),  
he turned to get on with it,  
having bigger fish to fry.

 

Less than an hour later,  
Barrow stood tall and proud at the rear of the dining room,  
having checked that the service was running smoothly.

The duke came in, trying to carry on a slightly more pleasant conversation with Sybbie than the choked one the night before.  
And the girl, looking over at Thomas to share her amusement almost undid him,  
but Barrow kept his face placid, and merely nodded,  
hiding his smile.

 

He was a professional, after all,  
and truly felt better for having cleared some hurdles this morning.  
He could handle things like nervous grooms and irritable guests (even the ones who pulled his emotions into the mix.)  
Whatever transpired, he'd simply smooth the messes over...  
today was important for everyone.

And,  
looking around and finding the faces of the young people, all looking happy,  
he couldn't help but regain a sense of happiness and balance within himself.

-  
-  
-

They'd made it through breakfast and changing,  
motoring out to the church,  
Lady Mary almost weak with it.

Coming in, settling down in the family pew, she leaned over to whisper at Tom,  
"I vow, if one more thing goes wrong this morning..."

 

The best man had dared to be delayed by a surgery, which was on George for ever picking a doctor to play this important part.  
Then young Patrick had discovered the puppy--which was a ridiculous thing for the children to have brought into the house anyway right now. (Poor child had howled when they were separated...Andrew taking the puppy down as Nanny took Patty up.)

Her father's friend, Sir John, had had a fainting spell when the two had gone for a breath of air in the gardens. Turned as grey as ash and wouldn't say a word why....but they'd had to pull Bates away to sit with the man until the doctor came.  
And, of course, the duke was still encamped.

 

Mary pressed her lips together and looked around a bit.  
"If one more thing goes wrong, I'll scream," she said, longing to, really, but naturally keeping herself in check.  
And in reply....Tom laughed.  
Trust him to laugh at a moment like this.

"Edith looks a bit happier," he said, finally.  
"She got a bit of venom out on Crowborough at dinner last night. I heard Robbie answering the man's questions this morning, and though he was fidgeting, he seemed to be telling him in far more detail than I've ever got  
whatever this small mess is about."

"So everyone's had their pound of flesh and the duke will be allowed to leave in peace?"  
"Allowed to leave? He pushed in, he...he..."  
But Mary clapped her mouth shut, realizing even speaking low as they were,  
it was a public place.

 

"We'll have to wait and see," she said, scowling around, trying to see if Bates had ever got back to sit by Anna.  
(And since he hadn't, did it mean Sir John was still feeling poorly? Or had the man simply left?)

"Your father seems to be enjoying things, for his part."  
And Mary looked over at where Lord Grantham stood, veritably beaming, and felt herself calm somewhat.  
Georgie settled in seeing him, too, knowing if the old man was here  
then Liz had arrived.

They were ready to start.

\---  
\---  
\--

And of course, it all went  
smoothly enough--  
The ceremony, the reception after.  
Most everyone seeing the surface and not the mayhem behind.

 

"The baby was naked? Surely not." Phyllis neatly buttered a roll and looked amused.  
"Starkers," Jimmy said.  
He'd recounted the chase, only afterwards realizing the bride already knew who the baby was, wasn't wondering about him at all when she'd asked 'who's this.'  
"An excellent first impression on the bride," Sam said, savoring a deep swallow of the better wine  
with which they'd been left even now at dinner time.

"Did you cook enough to last the week, Daisy?" Thomas teased gently.  
"Not with everyone eating like this," she smiled. "Sides we still have a few extra upstairs folks in house."

 

"That Duke?" Jimmy asked, as casually as he could manage.  
"Til tomorrow at least," Thomas answered, rather tired of the question by now. 

"Mr. Moseley, with Master George gone perhaps we can try the new valet with his grace. See if that's a better fit."  
The older man nodded.  
"Rather polish silver, even with m'hands stiff as they are. I don't know how you managed to get him back happy, but I'm thankful you did."  
Barrow nodded, ignoring Jimmy's cheeky look.

"And Sir John?"  
"He went off in a hurry after the doctor visited. Still didn't say anything to anyone."  
Andy and Thomas both took quick glances where Teddy sat,  
but the man made no comment so neither did they.

 

"Well, it's almost wrapped up then.  
They're off and we've made a success of today."  
So the butler said, and so the table believed, raising a general sound of agreement and good cheer.  
Some of them would be trimmed back given that the wedding was over.  
By a week or two more, things inventoried and packed away,  
a third or more wouldn't be here. 

Still, they'd leave with good references, and most already had other jobs in line.  
So no one was in an ill mood that evening,  
as they bundled and sorted, moved from grand plans to more mundane.

Everyone expected sound sleep and pleasant dreams  
that night.

 

Unfortunately, that would not be the case.

They'd be dropped off a cliff that night.


	34. Chapter 34

(Note: Character death.)

-  
-  
-

The groans of the dying came from No Man's Land as Corporal Barrow crawled through the fog.  
Horrible groaning, but his legs could barely move as he struggled to push himself through the slurry,  
a viscous mix of dust and rain and blood.

 

"Barrow we need you."  
There were voices closer, banging noise, but he had to prioritize, pulling out those worst wounded first.  
The dying.  
While amid their groans came the higher, lighter voice of one of the Children.  
Clarey?  
Downton rose up out of the fog and bomb-pocked battlefield then. 

Downton out of the fog of the Somme, spurring him on.

 

"THOMAS. We need you."  
Andy's hand was on him, his insistent voice pulling him back to his room.  
Pulling the noise of the wounded back, besides.  
And Barrow gasped as reality took shape around him and he realized.  
Not the soldiers.

The groans were here and now.

 

\---

Trying to catch his breath as he moved up and past, Thomas entered the hall to see everyone gathering,  
hoping to help somehow.

"A dream. I'm sure it's just a bad dream," Anna was saying as she made her way through the men.  
Forcefully. Pushing her usually gentle self through.  
"Nightmare?" Thomas asked, appalled, reaching Bates' door at the same time.  
("Yes. Get these young ones back," she snapped in an undertone, and for a second he hesitated, stung.)

Then,  
"You heard her. It's just a nightmare. Everyone back."  
His voice calm and steady, a lie in its tone of rock-solid surety--  
That, after all, being his Job.  
(And slowly, grumbling a bit about the false alarm,  
caught between compassion and exhaustion, most of them complied.)

 

"Gor," Andy murmured, looking the direction the maid had disappeared.  
He had nightmares himself, of course, but he'd not thought Bates ever had.  
As behind the door now, there was just the gentle rise and fall of voices--  
Anna's soft melody, with Clarey's piping counterpoint, and an occasional ragged note from John.

"That was a rough one," Parker said, knowingly.  
"Should I bring up a tray, Thomas?" Daisy asked, having come to stand by their side.

"No, I don't think so."  
His heart was just now settling down in its rhythm.  
"Though maybe. What time is it, anyway?"  
For once Barrow's internal clock wasn't functioning, his brain still clogged with mud.  
And looking at Andy, half abashed,  
"Was I shouting, too?"

"No, I just came when the noise started from Bates and..."

 

"Mr. Barrow? You're needed."  
Thomas flinched and turned around.  
(Just the hall boy, nothing more, he told himself, grasping at straws.)  
"The telephone, Mr. Barrow."  
The boy's eyes were wide, and he was out of breath from running up the stairs,  
knowing a telephone call in the middle of the night could only mean something  
disastrous.

And sharing that knowledge, Thomas started to follow him.  
Trying to steel himself to meet whatever it was head on.

\---

 

Barrow came out of the office grey faced,  
for even if it hadn't been his worst fears it was certainly far bad enough.

A light was on in the kitchen and he could hear Daisy chattering--calming the boy, answering Andy.  
And Thomas was glad of it, for he needed his friends' help right now.  
"Nathan, I want you to go back and sit in the servants hall. Perhaps start a fire to knock off the damp."  
(Even confused, the boy obeyed.)

 

And a silence fell as the Parkers stood staring at Thomas and he stood staring back a moment himself.  
"Johnny Bates," he said,  
then swallowed. "Dead."  
(Not George, he reminded himself. And still, he felt an air of unreality that ANY of the youngsters could ever be gone.)

 

Daisy breathed out slowly, grabbing ahold Andy, knowing how much the boy meant to him,  
bonded even over a short time in the war.  
"They're probably still in John's room. Clarey's sleeping there anyway, and Anna wouldn't've gone back yet."  
Barrow ran a hand through his hair, roughly shoving a fringe of it out of his eyes.  
He felt unsure of himself, even slightly guilty at that twinge of relief which had so swiftly come and gone. (Not George, you're allowed to love your 'own' boy more, even whilst you loved the Bates boys, too.)

"I'll have to go up and tell them, and I expect there'll be enough disturbance to bring everyone back out and down."

 

He licked dry lips and looked at Daisy.  
"Do you remember how it was after Lady Sybil died?"  
And as she nodded, images flashed through his mind of Anna comforting him.  
(So few people were kind to him back then and Anna had.... He shook the thought off.)

"Don't know if THEY'll want to be alone or with everyone else,  
"but the rest will want to be together a while."

 

"Miss Violet," Andy nodded. "She'll have to be told straight away."  
"Lady Mary first then, after Anna & John," Barrow agreed.  
"Phyllis could..." Daisy suggested.  
"Yes, I'll take her if that's the route we go, but Anna might just come down with John and Clarey when I say there's been a call.  
"It may stay quiet a bit, no one else hearing,  
and if it is, we'll give them some time to think it through before we go on."

 

"Not with everyone already stirred up," Andy pointed out.  
"No," Barrow agreed. "Probably not. And if downstairs knows,  
upstairs will have to be Immediately informed, too."

\---

A slight, strangled shriek came.  
Rapidly cut off.  
Pushed down.  
Denied.

"I thought it was important to tell you without any delay," Mary said a few feet away from where her daughter had pushed out of her arms.  
She and Tom were there in their robes, stunned but managing.  
"The message must be incorrect," Violet said, voice thin and strained.  
"That can't possibly be right. Not at all."  
She turned, looking for moorings, picking up and putting down several things before getting the next bit out.

"If he's injured, we'll need to get George back. He'll know what to do.  
"It's like when Clarey and I went south."  
Violet swallowed.  
"Surely if he didn't die then, he won't die now."

\---

Meanwhile, Barrow rapped softly on Edward's door. 

Violet, of course, was the priority. She'd never forgive not being told the moment they heard.  
But close as Edward was to Clarey, this WAS  
something like the boy's older brother was gone.

(Besides he couldn't risk Lady Mary going to the boy herself, anyway.  
Perhaps finding the room locked and realizing he wasn't alone.)

\---

"You must call George, Barrow. We must go up straight away."  
She was insisting on it, and he stood near the doorway to block her,  
nodding along.  
Violet's voice was stronger now, and she had thrown on clothes as though to bolt through the night.

"Violet, his manager was clear on the phone. He's...gone."  
Edward, having followed Barrow back to the room, couldn't quite say the word 'dead.'  
(Though she herself would hate the euphemism.)  
He'd come in and was following her around, mirroring her movements from a foot apart,  
knowing she'd eventually fold.

 

When he'd come to the door, his mama had started to reprimand Barrow until Tom cut her off.  
"If Edward can sit with his sister, we'll go tell your parents, then?" he suggested.  
"They'll need to know before facing the last few guests in the morning and besides...."  
His voice trailed off, so many things to consider all at once.  
So many interconnected things all at once.

And so Mary & Tom moved to take care of practical matters as Edward tried to take care of emotional ones.  
("Barrow," she still insisted. "Please...why is no one listening? We must call George.")

\---

"Violet?"  
Edward half caught her as she collapsed onto the bed, Clarey's Entrance her final undoing.  
"I wasn't sure they'd tell anyone up here, so early.  
"So I came."

And he crossed to where Edward was now holding her as she sat,  
taking the other side  
though he needed Edward himself.  
(Had seen to his parents, and now had come to look after Violet, though he needed to be looked after himself.)

 

"Clarey, he can't be dead. He just can't be," she insisted.  
But reading the tracks of tears still left on his face,  
she gave over and started to sob.  
"Letty," he sighed, using his arms to pull the three of them together,  
"I'm afraid they're quite sure  
he is."


	35. Chapter 35

-  
-  
-  
Violet reached back to rub a hand over what of Edward's hair she could reach, he leaning into her shoulder from behind. She'd caught her breath, and though still desolate, began TRYING to carry on what had been her Role from the beginning of time.

"It's bad after the first blow hits, then gets worse when you lose the numbness.  
"That's what I know from papa, both when he left and when he died."  
Clarey'd been comforting her, but now she tipped HIS chin with a finger. (Poor child--in spite of close calls, he'd never had a loss.)  
  
"You'll want to freeze up, but you're doing the right thing, keeping moving.  
And when one of us gets stuck in the next few weeks, we'll just have to come  
rely on the other one to help us through."

She gave the poorest approximation of a smile ever was, saying, "The more you pretend to be living, the more you mimic it, the closer you get back to Life."

 

Clarey took a deep, shuddering breath and a few tears leaked out.  
"I don't know how..." he hestitated.

"No one does. But it won't be the same for two people in any case. Edward and I didn't go through the same things the same way."

Behind her Edward pulled closer, not realizing Violet had felt overwhelmed back then. (Realizing she was now trying to protect Clarey the same way--a slightly older sister putting a good face on things. This when she needed protection herself.)

 

"And I don't know if we'll ever TRULY get over this, but I know we've got to keep going. That's what Johnny would've wanted done.'"  
They'd been talking for a while now, first with Barrow, then amongst themselves.

Violet felt as though drained of all energy, needing to lie down--  
which she had done, fully clothed,  
Edward covering her up, then after only a moment's hesitation lying down behind.

A few seconds more, Clarey joined.  
And the small huffs and smirks and comments on 'inappropriateness' and 'mother's reactions'  
gave them their first few split seconds of normalcy in  
what had become a nightmare time.

 

They settled and talked more, circling through what the days ahead might bring, before giving up and simply sharing warmth.

"I don't know how we'll manage, but somehow together we MUST," Violet said finally.  
And exhausted from the effort,  
though she tried to keep talking, tried to keep 'deciding things,'  
her eyelids began to droop,  
and Violet was lost.

\---

Instead of draining energy, however, Barrow was feeling a building rage.

"Get up," Thomas growled, advancing through the darkened room toward the bed.  
"Get up, damn you. Now."

Philip, rolling over, couldn't get untangled from the sheets fast enough to avoid the man.  
"Wha--?"  
Barrow pulled him out, bedding and all, forcing him to stand.  
"Your son just killed one of our children...or it looks as much to me."  
It was a wild leap of logic, born more of frustration than anything real.

 

The butler had finally gone from Violet's room, promising that he'd ring George.  
Making the call, knowing more than the others that the young man wasn't being caught at the channel, turned back from crossing...really wasn't that far.  
("Good, God. We were worried about Lord Grantham, not John," Liz blurted, before turning over the line.)

Now, though, practicalities in motion, having a second glimpse of Anna & John's tragic faces,  
Thomas needed a target for HIS guilt and pain.  
"Johnny Bates. One of the boys your son and that other little arse were causing problems for.  
John Bates, junior. Does that name sound familiar, or don't you even care?"

 

"Thomas. Don't. It can't be," Winthrop said, stumbling as the other man shook him like a rag doll.  
(Still, the duke held himself from striking back, just trying to stay upright and make Barrow stop.)  
"I heard what Master Rob said to you. I heard how bad your son's been acting up there."

"THOMAS. David's gone with his mother, the same day I came north. Whatever happened, he couldn't've hurt anyone."  
"Somehow he caused it," Barrow growled, not releasing him, indeed taking a tighter clenching hold with his hands.

 

"He caused problems, and....I'm sorry for that. Sorry I haven't done the job that I should've done.  
"But he didn't kill anyone. I'll ring the house in London and prove it to you if you want."

Allowing facts to somewhat cage his anger, the butler slowly released his grip,  
letting the other man step back.  
"Thomas," the duke said more softly. "I know you haven't any reason to trust me...  
"but if there's anything I can do for your family, I'd try to Help."

\---

Meanwhile, Violet's eyes had fluttered back open.  
She was watching the sun brighten though the window,  
lying with Edward still clinging onto her, refusing to let her go.  
(Like when she'd been little one time, waking up sick from a fever, and finding him asleep by her side.)

It was absurdly comforting, given that Violet was a girl who'd never much cared to be petted on.  
"You're awake," he whispered.  
"Mmm." She couldn't believe she'd let herself drift away.

 

"Clarey went down to be with his parents. Anna was gutted, of course, but he's more afraid for his dad."  
"Been sick," she murmured.  
"How'd you know that?"  
"You're not the only one who keeps watch."

And he held her more tightly still.  
Yet they weren't children any longer.  
And no matter how much she wanted to, they couldn't hide.

\---

Barrow came in next when they were just stirring and starting to sit up.  
He went down on a knee in front of her, making himself her height where she sat.

"Your brother's coming. They hadn't unpacked the motor car, so they've simply turned around."  
"The Duke of Crowborough is having his people see if they might be of assistance in making arrangements."  
"His son," Edward said quietly, dreading that David might have done something which could in any way have led to this. (Which meant, somehow, he'd blame himself.)  
"Is out of the country with his mother," Barrow said, noting the boy's relieved sigh, the only reason he'd let the bad taste of Philip in his mouth.

 

"Of course, Mr. Moorsum is looking into it, and he said whatever they can do, they will."  
(Barrow rose but then slightly bent, unable to keep himself from reaching out, one hand each on the two children's heads. A slight caress before going.)  
"If he's truly....dead....it won't matter, though," Violet said, shivering slightly,  
closing her eyes again,  
knowing she should go downstairs, it lacked any Sense not to go down, but just needing  
another hour where she could pretend.

\---

The hour passed too quickly.

 

"Do you still want to go up, Violet? I'll go with you if you think it needs done."  
(George, always her stalwart, the one they all admired, had come.)  
He was pacing across the sitting room, back and forth like a pendulum marking time.

"Apparently there were witnesses to Johnny stepping in to help someone being attacked. The three struggled, Johnny and the attacker were lost.  
And the third man's at hospital, fairly beaten."  
"Good heavens what's become of people these days," Lord Grantham groaned to the side of them.

"Evil. Some of them are evil, and he was keeping them from triumphing," she said quietly, upright and moving but still blank.

 

"If you go, Bates will want to go, too...." George stopped a moment in front of her as he played his last card, knowing that Violet wouldn't endanger Johnny's father especially now.  
(And it wasn't that George himself minded going, but from what he'd been told of the grim matter, there were thing he didn't want Violet to see.)

"No, if it's a certainty, I suppose not."  
(For her part ordinarily, Violet would have found a way to go, grabbed a train on her own if she must. Today, however, she felt beaten, sick to herself. And so she had to give.)  
  
Thus, a simple "excuse me" was all she managed, as she fled the room  
not wanting George or her grandfather to see her cry.

\----

And so by mid morning they were both a long way from coming to terms with the news,  
yet taking the first steps already of acknowledging that bad news had come.

"I'll make my farewells, Lord Grantham. If your family needs anything or if you'd ever need to stay in my London home, I'd be at your service."  
The Duke of Crowborough walked out with Robert alone,  
no fanfare now, and certainly no good cheer.

 

And yet,  
"I thank you for that," Lord Grantham said sincerely. "We aren't the types to be friends, Crowborough, but I appreciate your efforts this morning...and that you'll try to take care of that other matter with your son.  
"Not that it matters much to US now, but it will matter to him."

And the old man went in even before his guest left,  
exhausted by everything the night had brought. Believing that even with George's help,  
HE'd be the one to steer them through the catastrophe at Downton's door.

 

So finally  
finding himself alone with Thomas opening the door of the motor car,  
Philip murmured, "I promise. I'd like to help. I'd like to try."

For he'd seen both the glory of what Thomas had managed to gain,  
as well as the pain of losing parts of it.  
(And while he was definitely not a good man,  
it didn't mean that Philip wasn't wanting to become a better one  
now.)

Thomas, for his part, made no comment, only closed the door.


	36. Chapter 36

-  
-  
-  
(Note: timeline somewhat overlaps prior chapter)  
-  
-

 

"I need to go see Nanny,"Barrow said to Andy, a comment some of the younger ones down table in the servants hall took to be a non sequiter.  
"Miller first," Parker said, as obliquely as he could. (They were still in the first day after, still in the early hours, but Thomas needed a moment to stop.)  
"Phht."  
"Seriously, Mr. Barrow," Andy said a bit louder. "You know how badly you drive."

And a slight titter came from the maids in the corner, squelched by the butler's rare glare swung their way. (Laughter already? How dare they?)  
"And how you were with the duke last night," the footman whispered nearer to Thomas's ear as he stood.  
"You were..."  
"In the hall? Course I was, in case you needed me, blood in your eye like that."

 

Then louder again,  
"Get Miller to drive, and go see Nanny to tell her about Johnny. If you don't, it'll be my wife rampaging around the kitchen who'll make Both of us wish you had."

\---

Yes, they needed to watch for each other those first hours.

Yet in spite of needing their friends,  
Anna and John felt they could barely even face anyone else.

Of course, they'd gone up and dressed both Lady Mary and Lord Grantham.  
Found an almost soothing quality as muscle memory took over  
and they silently stood along side their upstairs partners.  
Buttoning, smoothing, brushing.

 

Breakfast, however, had been too high of a hurdle--Daisy sending a tray up for them and Clarey to eat.  
And now luncheon was rapidly coming to pass.

"We'll need to see the vicar for the arrangements," Anna said listlessly, having some vague idea from Lady Mary that everything else would be in her father's charge.  
"Perhaps luncheon at Carson's?" the boy suggested, to keep from facing the servants hall one more time.  
"Throwing away your life, Clarence," his father muttered. "More important than ever now, not to throw away your life."

At which, Clarey stopped, stunned.

 

"Mr. Bates."  
The sharp tone Anna used was unusual, but so was Bates taking out his broodiness on either of their sons. (On their only son, she corrected herself with a choked down gasp.)  
"I'm not trying to explain the farming again, da. I just thought maybe....it's fairly quiet there, just a few customers and Dolly and Mrs. Hughes."

"It's perfect, Clarey," Anna said, patting him.  
"You know, John, you've always loved Mrs. Hughes. And it's both a matter of someone telling her...and that she'll know just the right amount of things to do and say to comfort us back."

\---

Meanwhile, as Clarey'd gone to his parents, and Violet had been pulled aside by George & Donk, Edward took a bit longer time to talk to Misha.  
(They'd had only a moment's time before breakfast for the boy to tell Kuragin what had transpired.  
Told him only minutes before Lord Grantham, himself, had managed a general announcement that they'd had some unpleasant business arise, and he'd be pulled away for a while from seeing off some of the remaining guests.)

 

Thus it was only after breakfast, they were alone.  
"I didn't know Johnny well, of course, but knowing Clarey I'd only imagine the loss."  
Misha walked along the muddied paths of the garden, reaching out to gently touch a budding branch here or there.  
It was still spring. It was still lovely.  
The singing birds and greening hills were almost a mockery--all fresh coming life, in the midst of their news of death.

"I...Violet hasn't said it, but she won't be going back to college, of course, and I....well at the very least not this term."  
Edward used both palms to dry wash his face.  
It was ridiculous to dither over such trivialities at this point, but life was just a series of trivial moments when it came to it. (Though trivial details that combined, point by point to paint a Seurat landscape of life.)

 

He stopped.  
Misha stopped.  
And for a few seconds, they stood there not making eye contact,  
until Kuragin reached for his hand.  
"Well, I'll have to call my father, then, and tell him my time here is extended," he said softly.  
"That is if YOU invite me this time, not Clarey or your mama."  
And Edward, swallowing back a sob as best he could, merely nodded.  
(Yes, of course he was wanted.)

And turning to Misha, he took a step forward,  
to seek comfort within his arms.

\---

Mr. Bates had found himself somewhat calmed by Mrs. Hughes, as Anna had predicted.  
The former housekeeper was older and slower now, but she hadn't lost her edge of wisdom as she'd aged.  
"Anna's right, don't you see, Mr. Bates? Clarence could still claim more education than the other young men in town, and he'd get a head start on a business, too....doing both at the same time."  
"And he'd be home," stressed Anna, who was sitting so close to Clarey there was no room between the two.

 

"I've nothing against the Parker girl," John Bates muttered, starting to give over.  
(Which was quite a relief to Dolly, listening from around the door.)  
"I just can't think....I don't want...And we've lost so much...."  
His voice broke and the man started to cry in Mrs. Hughes' kitchen--where they weren't exactly in public, and yet were also not completely alone.  
"I'll go fetch something from the front room I want you to see that Johnny gave me. It's such a sweet thing," Elsie said, patting the man's shoulder, before nodding at Anna & Clarey.

Nothing was sure in life, the old woman knew  
She only hoped John Bates could survive this blow.

\---  
And of course another older man was feeling the strain.

"Darling, come sit down before you fall ill, too," Cora said, patting the seat beside her.  
Lord Grantham was 'allowing' George to phone about arrangements with Grisby's.  
He was 'allowing' Freddie Moorsum to go to the police and get copies of the witness reports.  
He was even 'allowing' his guests to depart without the usual social conventions.

"I need to find some sort of sense in the world," he said to her.  
"There's so little sense in the things that've happened today."

 

"I know, Robert, but the boy could have just as easily died in Normandy. You heard George. Johnny wasn't expected to live.  
"Try to keep ahold of that. Bates had him for that many more years."  
For himself, Robert looked as his wife, somewhat appalled.  
(Of course, she wasn't as close to Bates and Anna, didn't understand how a man felt about a son.)  
"I'm not meaning to make light of the matter," she stressed, seeing him tense.  
"Truly. And with Violet so fond of him, it's crushing. I'm just meaning we must take life as it is."

 

Life as it is.  
Robert swallowed, thinking of the second hard hit he'd had that day.  
"The children, of course, won't go back away this term. We'll not discuss it now, but I don't know if I'll want them to go back at all or not, dangerous as things apparently are."  
(She pursed her lips, wondering if he wasn't overreacting, but agreeing that for now at least, Violet of COURSE wouldn't go away from home.)  
"Perhaps you should invite that young friend of Edward's, too, to join us a while longer. Clarey and Edward both could use an extra friend who isn't so pulled down by the thing with Bates."

For  
when he'd been 'allowing' some of the minutiae to be taken care of without him,  
Lord Grantham had taken a walk in the garden,  
and realized Johnny's death was the first of  
two unexpected shocks he'd have  
that day.  
Yet, they must indeed take  
life as it was.


	37. Chapter 37

-  
-  
-

There was a short wait before the funeral could be held, days in which thoughts had the slowness of treacle pouring.  
Days in which they still used quieter voices and touched one another more.  
Still, even that period passed and it came time to face the services--  
services that were intended to be comforting.  
(But Violet feared would NOT be, no matter how hard they tried. ) 

The church was filled, she noted with a mixture of pride and despair.  
For Johnny had been well loved upstairs and down, through the village, too.  
Flowers--from stately bouquets from the green houses to small bunches of wild flowers--mounded over the casket's lid.  
People, there to support mainly the Bates family, but acknowledging the big house family as well.

 

Yet, all really Violet could think about--in that blank space as the eulogy washed past her unheard--was what fragments they'd learned about Johnny's last hours, pieced together with what she already knew.

\---  
\---

 

Johnny'd been half out the door when Moorsum pulled him back with a message that Lewis needed to see him.  
So close to leaving, but his sense of duty requiring him to stay.  
He huffed in exasperation, mildly cursing his rotten luck.

So a bit over an hour until the train came, Johnny found himself making a short call to the Abbey, explaining things to Violet. (He'd try still to make the last train, ride the night, come in by the wedding, but he might not make it in time.)

"I swear, I'm expecting to see you every night to make up for this when I get back," she told him firmly, as close as she could come to a joke.  
"Mmm...perhaps every other," he teased, thankful she wasn't too very cross.  
"No, every night. And dinner out on Friday, too.  
I have something to talk to you about. Sensibly, not now when you're in a rush."

 

He loved her so.

"I might make the train. Or I could try to run up and back tomorrow anyway. Ride the rails and turn around to escort you on the ride back."  
"Foolish," she sniffed. "I'd rather have you rested and there.  
"Of course, I'd really rather you on the train tonight, resting here for a day then back."  
The static grew on the line, and he could hear her breathing,  
willing herself to do the 'correct' thing.

"I'll do my best. But as much as I want, I can't just leave knowing he needed something tonight."  
"Dasted Burke," she huffed. "Go, hurry, do your good deed and try to make the train. And if you don't, I'll show you my dress when we get back."  
He laughed. "I'm sure it's got all sorts of frippery," he grinned into the receiver. "And I'm sure you'll look beautiful." 

"It does. I will. So do try to tell the young man you need to hurry along."

 

And resettling the handset onto the phone,  
Johnny put on his hat and went out.

\--  
Lewis was in a pub fairly close to the station.  
And though he'd felt his needs urgent enough, he DID indeed rush along,  
rattling through especially fast when Johnny flinched seeing someone over his shoulder.  
"What?" the boy had asked.  
"Looked like that fellow from college my fiancee was angry about--Sloane, I think he is.  
A very nasty sort."

Jenson Lewis nodded, agreeing, looking around and glad to see Googie leave.  
"You've got a train to catch," he said abruptly.  
"I do," Johnny agreed, starting to rise. "But I'll be back soon. Stay safe."

\---

And what happened next was foolish really.  
Johnny'd gone out--Lewis going one way and he the other.  
When north along the street, rounding the corner to the bridge by the river, Johnny'd seen someone having a fight.  
Someone being beaten by Sloane, crying for help.

And muttering a slight vulgarity, Johnny dropped his satchel and hung his trench over the railing.  
For he'd STILL make the train if he had luck.  
(And Violet was fussy, so he'd need to minimize damage to his appearance as much as he could.)  
And with that last thought, Johnny sailed into help.

 

Behind him a bit, some passersby were coming running up to where the melee was roiling,  
and Johnny was grateful they'd soon be there.  
But even as that thought occurred to the boy, he felt a hard blow  
and, spinning, fell back.  
Chaos as his world went black.

\---  
\---

The witness statements Moorsum got from the police told of the fight, and Lewis Jenson had added information of their meeting & parting.  
It was a brutal accident, then, from witness accounts.  
Another case of Johnny knowing someone was in trouble and him Believing that he must help, no matter who they were.

 

"Violet?"  
The music was swelling, and Edward spoke to nudge her out of her reverie.  
She rose and walked out, going toward the churchyard.  
She hated the thought of shutting Johnny up in the hard ground there,  
wanted to rail against it,  
refused to feel resigned to what the others called the Will of God.

Yet, she was too weak to fight this particular battle against the universe,  
one girl against death.  
(Somehow she'd failed Johnny this time.)

\---  
"Violet?"  
A different young man, a different voice as they made their way along afterwards  
(sounds of the dirt dropping still in her mind.)  
"Yes?"  
She held back as he came up as though familiar with her, though she knew they'd not met before. 

"I knew Johnny, and wanted to offer condolences. My name is Jenson and..." he shook slightly "... this whole thing is my fault."  
"It's Googie Sloane's fault from what we were told."  
Her voice was thin, but firm. And she was no mood for this young man's dramatics.

"Yes, I heard he and John went over into the river grappling together, but  
your fiance wouldn't've known Goodwin if not for me."

 

Violet flinched, adding in the knowledge that he might have drowned, not just been killed by a sudden blow into the mix of her thoughts.  
Then, blinking, circled back to the larger picture.  
"Jenson?"  
"Lewis Jenson."  
"Johnny's boy then," she swallowed and gave a soft, strangled laugh.  
"I thought the boy still in hospital was The Boy, but it's you."

 

"I'm so sorry," he said, standing there half hunched over, eyes watering, looking for all the world like a beaten pup.  
And she wanted to beat him, too, frankly. Take out her anger at her world so beyond control. Still....  
"You aren't to blame," she said, mustering up every bit of her sense of fairness and laying it against her anguish now.  
"It was that beast who was to blame, and he's dead, too.  
"It wasn't your fault. Johnny thought you were WORTH fighting for so.....  
"It WASN'T your fault."

Still, there was strength, and there were limits,  
and having met hers,  
Violet gave the boy a watery smile and continued on,  
hoping what she'd managed to say  
was enough.


	38. Chapter 38

-  
-  
-

She railed against it, still.  
There'd seemed so little sense before, and even less now.  
So Violet railed against it--of course, completely inside her mind.  
Yet outside she kept going, one foot in front of the other,  
starting another day as life moved on.

 

\---

"Are you less gippy this morning, Letty?" Clarey'd asked anxiously as he came up to the library to sit. (They'd had so much come at them in such a tiny space of time, he wasn't surprised her stomach was turning over. HIS was some.)  
"Less," she agreed, taking the tea he'd gone and poured.

They had nothing to do, really. Somehow without really deciding, in half sentences and full feelings they'd all simply come to the consensus to stay there.  
Simply congregated in their usual places in the library, even if whatever they'd been reading no longer mattered.  
(All that mattered now was the feeling the others were near.)

 

Of course Hatty found them, wandering back and forth between where the two old men were in the earl's study to where the four young people were letting the morning slip by.  
(Finally exhausted from all the exploration...and quite put out by the lack of attention, the pup fell into a heap at Violet's feet.)  
"Silly thing," she said, scooping it up onto her lap to enjoy the warmth.  
The tea and the sleeping animal helped some.  
Though not enough.  
And it wasn't just grief.  
"I feel guilty about The Boy," she said finally, when she'd marshalled some energy.

 

"The boy?" Clarey asked, a smile flickering across his face without him feeling it.  
"At the funeral," Edward said, then turned. "You meant Lewis, didn't you?"  
"Yes, of course."  
Her tone turned grumpier than it had been in days, and it made them glad to hear it.  
"I feel guilty that I cut him so short, even if it was a horrible day. Johnny wouldn't've wanted that."  
She gulped a bit at the name, but pressed on.  
"I should've done better."

"You did fine, Violet," Edward said.  
Loyally, Misha seconded, "I'm sure he couldn't have expected anything more."  
They watched her a moment as she stared out the window at the greening trees-- buds and a few leaves about as big as a thumbnail.  
And fearing she'd drift off again, Clarey suggested, "You could always write."

 

Three sets of eyes looked to him, then.  
"Write and thank him for coming or ask how things are for him now that class has begun....  
If one really feels guilty, sometimes it helps do something to relieve it, after all."  
(Clarey'd felt guilty quite a few times in his young life, and knew what he was about.)

"I've been trying to keep track of things," she waved a hand in the air.  
"It's just all so fragmented and incomplete, I can't get the details sorted."  
"Of course not," Misha added. "This soon."  
And they sighed and nodded, flipping a few pages.  
Before Violet continued, "Still, Clarey's correct. The least I can do is write. Perhaps after luncheon, though, not now."

\---

The children were struggling along better thanks to being together,  
and the women were helping Anna in her struggle, too.  
Though still self-centered, Lady Mary especially  
was trying to do everything she could think to do.

"I rang about Clarey and Edward serving here--you'd have been simply astonished how agreeable the man became when he found how much land we have. And, of course, they commandeered it before, but now we'd provide the work and staff, make a business of it."  
Anna nodded along, "I'm thankful they'll be close, my lady. Thankful for both of us."  
  
  
"I was surprised when I went to sort it out with the gardener that Mr. Samuelson said Clarey was a favorite of his. Seems he and Edward don't just occasionally stop in and talk to him, but have made regular pests of themselves."  
"Regular, yes, though I don't think they've been pests." And Anna's voice gentled as she mentioned her harem scarem child, unable to feel anything but glad as she thought of him,  
no matter how low she felt.

"It will be good to have that sorted at least, with everything else that's come."  
(And Mary bent forward, looking into the mirror--for once watching back where her maid was working, rather than at the reflection of herself.)  
  
  
A few moments later, Mrs. Moseley knocked--as planned.  
"Your mother's finished dressing, my lady, and sent me to ask if you thought you'd need our help on the tour."

They were going out on nothing more than a motor car ride, really, simply an excuse to take some air.  
"Anna," she said as if just having the thought. "It would be ever so much nicer if you and Mrs. Moseley DID go along. I'd rather stop at the Netherby, even if it's a bit further. And with mama having some troubles lately, maybe it's best both of you instead of just one.  
"In case we need help, that is."

 

Mrs. Moseley's eyes got a bit wide at Lady Mary's exaggerated picture of her mother as decrepit--when Lady Grantham was managing just fine.  
Still, Anna'd know any excuse for what it was--an excuse. Merely an artifice to see if she'd let them take her away for an hour or two, away from her son & husband's side.

So they waited as the maid paused a minute, considering.  
(No one would know them there to accidently say anything too upsetting. It was quiet and nice. Mr. Bates would be fine on his own, insisting still on being with his lordship in the study....and while it would be a challenge to be more than yards away from Clarey, that would eventually have to come.)

"Yes, my lady, certainly. I'd be glad to help."  
"Excellent."  
And nodding slightly, one to the other, the three went another step along.

\---

Meanwhile, a little bit later,  
Clarey and Mr. Bates were forced into making some strides, themselves.  
Both would have preferred to be alone, with a bit of bread & cheese in solitude (the boy with a book, the old man with a nap)  
Yet instead they were in the servants hall with the usual bustle and chatter around.

Anna herself had made them all come down a day or so after the news, and now by not sitting with them, she was challenging them both a bit more.

 

"Have some parsnips, Mr. Bates. I know they're your favorite. And tell me if you notice a difference in the stew."  
Daisy came around, bringing more rolls and putting them particularly in front of Clarence. (A warm, calloused hand briefly patting his shoulder before she moved.)  
And as for the stew, it wasn't truly different, but she couldn't think of a polite way to nag poor Mr. Bates to eat.  
The old man'd been off his food even before the news, Daisy'd noted, and she was getting worried as he grew ever more thin.  
"It's perfect," Thomas said from nearby--smiling slightly at the cook, knowing what she was trying.  
Bates said nothing, but at least gave a nod and took a hestitant bite.

 

"I'll say it's good," Jimmy added in from his corner.  
Between them the men could keep up a conversation, even if Bates was undone.  
"And the parsnips remind me of when I was a boy and my mum used to make them. Every way imaginable." Kent smiled, memories of her death had receded enough to be replaced mainly by memories of her life.  
"Asparagus," Teddy murmured. "Always ended up on the table early on." 

"Potatoes," Bates said shortly, keeping his eyes down.  
They stutter-stopped.  
"In every way imaginable," Barrow snorted a second later. "Your mum might have different ways with parsnips, Jimmy, but those were a treat for us. Potatoes, though. Bates is right.  
"Anyone who can make a meal decent when it's mainly potatoes or bread is a gifted one."

 

Culinary options far TOO thoroughly covered, Barrow looked to Jimmy again, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.  
"Teddy and I managed to see the bright lights while we were away," Kent said, looking first to where Bates sat, then over to Joe.  
The game keeper nodded encouragement.  
And while he didn't tell too exciting a story, didn't WANT to paint things to rosy quite yet, Jimmy eased into it.

Telling them of the different country side. The way the people were.  
And by the end of it, Clarey had asked a few questions and Bates himself had looked up.  
(Thomas & Joe nodded; Jimmy Kent--a natural entertainer--had read his audience well.)

\---

Still,  
eating downstairs next to his father had been difficult, and Clarey felt guilty at how relieved he was to again join the younger crowd.  
It was hard to be around his dad now, hard to realize the man felt he was falling short.  
Also, of course, the deep brooding cloud da had formerly kept in the background was now (naturally) wrapped around.

Clarey wanted to help, he did.  
And he WOULD.  
Yet, he also needed to be up and in the light part of the time. Around Edward's gentle voice and studious manner. Around Violet, even, though she wasn't herself.

 

"I saw Barrow's newspaper. Haverby was acquitted, though they convicted the other men."  
"A shame for British justice," Edward replied to him as he sat down.  
"It always prevails in the end, though," Violet added in firmly. "Even if we don't see it work out."  
(At least she knew Googie'd met with justice--though, as with Lewis, she felt slightly worried she hadn't done more for the other man in the fight.  
Not 'The Boy'....yet the one in hospital was another of 'Johnny's' none the less.)

 

Then thinking a bit, realizing the world was going on with business, that Jenson could be reached by post up at the COLLEGE....how much time had passed and yet Kuragin was lingering....  
"Misha?" she asked. "Wasn't your father very put out when you told him you were staying on?"  
(And how much longer, she wanted to ask, but daredn't.)

"He'll be over it soon enough," the Russian said calmly.  
"Gran will make sure he sees what's right."

And for a second his mouth twitched up at the corners, for his grandmother controlled the finances.  
(She'd made the money and even if tradition said who it went to, the law would be on her side in a fight.)

 

"You don't mind," Edward said, look warning his sister, even in her grief to not say the wrong thing.  
"I actually didn't notice," she answered, then nodded. "He's already become one of us....in so short a time, but there it is."  
She paused, then emphasized, "And of course I don't 'Mind.' Really, Edward."

 

So saying, Violet lowered her head over the magazine through which she was flipping, but cast her eyes sideways to watch as Misha & Edward smiled one to the other.  
It might be speedy, but the two of them had every appearance of a pairing meant to last. 

Something to think about,  
in a world where she had far too many things to think about,  
yet no ability to control her thoughts.

\---

By evening the men, feeling Bates needed comfort and seeing he'd never accept it, took it upon themselves to move their companionable gatherings to the servants hall.  
Where he couldn't dodge a game of cards.  
Of course Anna insisted he sit and quietly play while she 'took care of some things,'  
then went to the housekeeper's sitting room,  
where she could sit and rest.

Their game wasn't meant to be disrespectful, of course.

Just as when they'd played knowing Andy & Johnny were storming a beach in Normandy,  
this wasn't a frivalous sort of pursuit. It was mutual consolation.  
"You know, Mr. Bates, when my mum died," Jimmy started as he shuffled the cards.  
"It left me gutted, maybe not just like you, but somewhat the same."  
(And next to him, Sam turned, an old man rearing back to take a swat at a younger one for bringing up a topic that shouldn't be dove into so very head first.)

 

"So I did something stupid."  
Jimmy flipped cards in front of each man, shaking his head as he made eye contact with each.  
(I've got this, his look tried to say.)

"I'd assume," Bates tersely managed. And when the card landed in front of him, he gathered it without looking up, having partially pulled in on himself again.  
Jimmy intentionally chuckled, letting them all get reacquainted with the sound, before easily shutting it off.

"I pretended she wasn't. Dead that is. I pretended she was just in the other room, or off to market. She wasn't ALWAYS within sight of course, even alive.  
"So for hours I'd lie to myself, not saying a word to anyone. Then when I'd got my feet under me, I lied a little less every day until I could handle the truth."

 

"Can't pretend it away with Anna & Clarey, too," Bates said in a burst that for recently passed as loquacious.  
"I'm not saying I acted daft....not more than usual," Jimmy said as Joe raised his eyebrows.  
"I just didn't pick at the sore spot so much. I let myself put it away in the other room. That way it healed over a bit for the next time I needed to give it a touch."

"He was a good boy," Thomas added, leaning over toward Bates. "If you want to tell us stories you think Anna couldn't bear right now, or if you just want to stay quiet, whichever's fine."  
"Anyway, enough blither," Sam said, hoping they'd not gone too far.

 

"Yes, cards," Jimmy prompted, ready for light and meaningless talk  
mixed with deep and comfortable silence.

"Cards," Andy said, having managed to sort his in order.  
Hesitating, squinting slightly as he considered, then,  
"I think I need three," he said.


	39. Chapter 39

-  
-  
-  
Downton Abbey rose darkly against the soft spring night,   
a Bath stone fortress with foundations sixteen feet deep.  
It was built to survive change, outlast shocks, protect the Family inside. 

A family themselves strong as stone,  
who generation after generation hadn't let their "walls" crumble or crack.  
Had stood up to every variation on life's triumphs and tragedies,  
just as Violet Talbot was determined to do right now.

Yet,

Violet stood by her bedroom window.  
Face pale. Hand raised convulsively to her neck.  
Stunned Once More by the twists of life.

 

She looked out at the untouchable moon, shimmering in the sky,   
and wanted to let herself weep again. (Weep for all the nights they'd been in the tower in moonlight. Weep for the feel of his arms about her. Weep until she herself died.)  
But she couldn't allow it. Wouldn't.  
Violet knew that she had to be cool and logical,  
knew she had to be strong as stone.

\---

They were now nine days out from the disastrous news, Violet thought,  
mind whirling.  
(Until she'd tallied up Misha's lingering, she hadn't felt the days' escape.)

They'd come home from the term.  
Then London.   
The weeks leading to the wedding.  
Then the awful news and funeral.  
It all was so mixed up in her head, all one gigantic block of time where even the early pleasures were now overwritten by pain.

Violet first tried her fingers to count   
the days & weeks which had gone by too fast.

 

Yes, there'd been the tiniest tickle of suspicion in the back her mind around the week she'd picked up Hatty, but there was so much happening then.  
So, she'd ignored the tickle, then simply   
had forgotten it   
as anything but loss was wiped from her mind.

Time had blurred for Violet, but it came back into focus now.

Alone in her room  
she'd turned to the calendar, counted the weeks down twice again.  
And found what had been passing suspicion, discarded, could now be considered near certainty.  
In what was absolutely inexcusable timing on her part,  
Violet Talbot realized  
she was going to have a child.


	40. Chapter 40

-  
-  
-

Violet splashed icy water on her face, hoping both to wake herself up and calm herself down.  
Still feeling like a tragic heroine in her mind, she nevertheless had a more firm step as she dressed and went toward the dining room the next morning.  
There was now a definite cause to keep moving, rather than just some vague sense of duty and right.

"Barrow," the girl nodded, heading toward where the food sat to the side.  
"Miss Violet," he returned, immediately quirking an eyebrow at the change in tone.

 

"I think Clarey's going to the village," Edward called over, seeing her entrance.  
"We thought we might join him. Do you want to come with?"  
(His friend hadn't been able to see Dolly since the short stop at the Carson Cottage with his parents. And of course, neither then--nor at the funeral--had they truly been allowed to talk.)

"It might be good," Edward almost wheedled as his sister sat.  
  
After all, it was one thing for them to all decide to stay home at Downton.  
It was another entirely to refuse to leave the house.

 

"No, I'm fine," Violet said, distracted--already busily  
listing and weighing options in her mind.

She forced herself to sit and eat a few bites for strength, silently moving the rest around so as not to be obvious.  
Until,  
"Are you less under the weather?" Misha interrupted her thoughts.  
Violet blinked.  
"Yes, I am."  
Then....  
MISHA, she thought.  
Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him, considering.  
Used to her now, the boy merely stared blandly back.

(If she had to marry for convenience, mightn't it be logical that it be convenient for the man as well?)

 

Yet, first there was the matter of actual testing to see she was right.  
Now, Violet had doctor for a brother with a mid wife married to him, but  
she didn't want them involved unless absolutely necessary, and....

"Violet? Did we lose you?"  
Edward looked over to where she sat, staring slightly past Misha's shoulder now, out the window behind.  
(Even Kuragin was watching her...more warily now.)  
"I'm perfectly fine. I was just thinking of the lovely letter Gennie sent for condolence. And if you boys are making the effort to go out, so should I."

She took a deep breath, then a long sip of tea.  
"I think I should make a visit.  
"You all would be bored, of course, not knowing her, but her family has a lovely country house."

 

A general murmur of approval followed, with Violet feeling a bit guilty  
they were so inordinately pleased.  
"Stay the night if it's restful and have a good catch up," Donk encouraged, heartily.  
"I know what a difficult time you're having, darling girl."

\---

Just a little bit later, it was a surprisingly normal scene for the boys--

Clarey and Edward (now with Misha added) tromped down the path to the village in the strengthening light.  
Overhead, birds were chasing one another through the tree tops in that wild cacophony of spring.  
Nests started, mates found, territories warred over--  
all in birdcalls that to the boys sounded simply a sweet, innocent song.

 

However, not everything was simple.  
"I'm not exactly sure what to say once we're there."  
Clarey rubbed his nose a bit and kept his eyes to the ground.  
"Say?"  
"You know, SAY. It's not that I don't want to see her, Edward, but the last two times were so brief and awkward with everyone around...because of where they were."  
The blonde hesitated. "And I don't know how much more either of us can take of THAT."

 

Talbot nodded.  
It wouldn't do any good to go to Carson's and have more condolences mouthed with nothing else.  
"Say you Need her," Misha suggested after a second.

"It's fine to be blunt. After all, if this is the person whom you want, and who wants you, then you're allowed to be bold."  
The Russian knocked against Talbot's shoulder. "Correct?"  
"Yes," Edward said, grinning first at Misha, then at Clarey, too.  
"Maybe, though, say you MISSED having her around to talk. Then see what she says back."

 

He grabbed his best mate's shoulder, stopping him a moment.  
"There's Donk's news about how Theodore Haverby isn't being received up south. She helped catch him, after all, so she'd want to know that.  
"Or how brilliantly her plan is falling into place about the farm...imagine if she hadn't seen it all in her mind ahead of us needing it.  
"There are a lot of things to keep going with, Clarey. No worries. Just say whatever comes to mind."

And they continued their walking, voices pleasant under the blue sky and sunshine.  
"If you're actually serious after all, shouldn't you be able to talk about  
cabbages as well as roses?" Edward added, philosophically.  
And Clarey nodded, agreeing and continuing hopefully along.

\---

Meanwhile, Violet used the telephone and quickly threw a few items together herself.  
Even starting behind the boys, taking the motor car toward the station  
meant she passed them in the village  
just as they went in Carson's door. 

"Be good to him, Dolly," she muttered, wanting to stay and manage things but having to trust them for now.  
"He chose you to love and he deserves only the best."

 

For although she'd once found Johnny's brother an irritant--flighty and lacking sense--she'd grown over the years to see his depths,  
strengths she'd relied on recently.  
And to Violet, while Clarence wasn't his brother,  
she admitted to herself that he had grown really quite dear.

\---

"The jams are from Yew Tree," Dolly continued, easily chatting with Mikhail. "I've used granny's recipes and we've quite a few places I'm selling to now."  
She paused and poured more of the tea, leaning and checking especially on Clarey.  
(Smiling, patting, puttering a bit over him. Making sure he had his favorite things.)

 

"Clarey had some good news on the farming idea you had," Edward prompted,  
looking over somewhat desperately to where his friend sat, seemingly gone mute.  
They were a good hour along now,  
with Talbot & Kuragin steering the talk while Dolly calmly smiled and answered back.  
Clarey, though, said nothing and seemed lost in thought. 

(Oh, dear, Edward thought. Perhaps this WAS a bad idea.)

"Cabbages," Misha cut in, then, staring directly at Bates.  
"Cabbages, Clarey. Honestly," he repeated  
to the puzzlement of the girl. 

 

"Cabbages as your crop?" Dolly asked the blonde directly, drawing his eyes to hers.  
He licked his lips and looked back at her.  
"No, if you make a life with someone you have to be able to talk cabbages as well as roses," he said, voice a bit thin.  
"Have them with you ordinary times, not just when things are rosy good."

"Course you do," Dolly said, falling a bit deeper into the sincerity of his gaze.  
(How had she ever preferred any other color but blue?)  
"And I'm ever so sorry it's not been good for you recently, love."

 

The sympathy was welcome and not overdone.  
And she followed by taking his hand in hers, giving him something to cling to.  
He swallowed.  
"I...it's not..." Clarey stuttered. (Say whatever's on your mind, Edward had said.)  
"I..."  
She gave a reassuring squeeze, holding fast.  
"I'd like to know if when things AREN'T so black, you'll be around to marry me," Clarey blurted,  
never having been the type of boy to over plan.

 

And  
"I'm right here and waiting," Dolly answered calmly.  
"I'm right here, any day you'd like."

\---

By dinner the entire household knew, including their connections out at the two tenant farms.  
Upstairs at table, Edward's delighted first hand account brought a little light into what had been a darkened time.

Of course, it didn't entirely distract Lady Mary,  
who still had questions about her middle child.  
"You encouraged this, papa?" she asked in an undertone as amused voices continued around.  
"Honestly. Who is this girl?"  
Even if Violet had always been eight going on eighty, this week she'd been carrying the weight of the world.

 

"A friend from college with a house like ours. You'd have to ask your mama. She'll know every detail about the family six generations back."  
Her father smiled benevolently, turning back to the better news.

And rolling her eyes, Mary leaned over to do so.  
Really.  
Her father was both a reassuringly protective  
and frustratingly trusting sort of man.

\---

Finally, in the south,  
Violet's train was coming in to where the line joined the canal now, approaching the  
college town through allotment back gardens and brick walls,  
past factories and an iron bridge.

And though the manic mood had passed, Violet still hadn't entirely lost her energy.  
After the week of sorrow, she was feeling more her regular self.

 

This morning, worrying about rabbit tests and absolutely KNOWING,  
she'd first thought of London, with plenty of doctors (and no way of her 'situation' getting back.)  
Then, she realized the advantage of her poor little abandoned flat over that of a single woman booking a room at the Ritz.

Privacy, mainly. No Fleet Street men lurking nearby.  
Moreover, no memories of that last goodnight.

Also, most important to Violet--  
this gave her a chance to complete a chore that demanded to be made in person--  
seeing Lewis Jenson.  
Because she absolutely knew doing so would've made Johnny proud.

 

Indeed, through the train ride  
Violet had the oddest sense of Johnny actually WITH her, approving & urging her decisions on.  
And putting a protective hand on her belly, the girl realized--in a way--HE was.

"Must be what mothers are supposed to feel," she thought, both irritated and awed at the notion. (Followed swiftly by, "Good lord, ME with my own Patrick running about.")  
Pride and panic mixed, and for a moment she felt like laughing  
(could hear Johnny laughing)  
before she remembered herself.

And finally now  
with the long ride almost over, Violet felt she had made her first step in a week to  
accomplish things both useful and sensible for herself.

She had an appointment at the infirmary late the next day. And afterwards, she could return home and wait to find out what course fate had mapped, and...

 

"Violet?"  
The voice was still that odd drawl, that strange pitch. 

Lewis. Johnny's Boy, himself.

She'd left a message for him this morning that she was intending to be in, but she hadn't expected him to meet her immediately. (Luncheon, she'd distinctly said, but perhaps the man passing it hadn't made the message clear.)  
"Violet? I'm so glad to see you," he smiled, looking almost friendly.  
"I've been watching train after train, waiting for yours to appear."


	41. Chapter 41

-  
-  
-

Jenson tucked her into his jalopy in the car park, turning the key with somewhat of a flourish.  
"Old but she runs," he said in a light, shy voice.  
And so welcome and unexpected had their meeting been, that Violet didn't even try to give him a lecture on internal combustion in spite of the engine's clattering noise.  
The radio was on, half covering it anyway--  
a soppy, sentimental tune that made Violet momentarily close her eyes.

It was that old chestnut which could make even her mama tear up  
and talk of singing to the troops in the Great War.  
Back when things had a Romance gone lacking now--their modern world far too stark with reality.

And hearing it,  
Violet felt herself soften and wish she could go back to THAT world for awhile.

\---

Meanwhile to the north at Downton,  
Clarey and Dolly stood romantic & lover-like enough in the face of adversity. 

Though for them, of course, adversity was merely four parents--who ranged from proud to irate.  
Andy Parker was happiest, naturally.  
Dolly and Davey were his pride and joys, so he hated the thought either would ever leave Yew Tree.  
Still, with some sense of realism beat into him during the years of war,  
Andy knew this was actually nothing to wail about. (Nor even grumble as Daisy had at first done.)

Clarey was a Bates, after all, and though Thomas and Mr. Bates danced around one another a bit, the man still held their respect. The father was good, and the son was following the same sort of path.

 

"I'm so happy for you, sweet."  
He kissed his daughter's cheek, then cupped it gently in his large, warm hand a moment, before turning to the boy.  
"Clarence." The same hand was held affectionately out to shake.  
"I'll have to trust you to take care of my girl."

Across the room, Daisy gave a teary-eyed sniff. First hugging Anna, she then came to hug Clarey, too.  
"Daft idjits. Too young, really truly you are."  
But in the end it was said in a tone of benediction. Warm and loving, Daisy pushed aside any lingering concerns she had.

 

"Dad?"  
Clarey held his breath a bit.  
He knew that angry look on his father's face all too well from recent days.  
In reply, Bates muttered low under his breath.

 

"John," his wife warned, taking his arm, running a calming hand up it.  
Waiting,  
"John?" she questioned more gently after a moment more.  
He looked down at her then, his milk and honey wife, Anna, whom he'd loved from the very first time they met.  
Who was he to deny Clarence a partner in facing life's troubles?

"I'm happy for the two of you," Bates managed, though his eyes replaced anger with sorrow more than joy.  
"And I'm thrilled," Anna added, taking him by the hand with her as she crossed to them.

Then hugging Dolly and Clarey, "Another generation married downstairs from the Abbey," Anna smiled.  
"And here I am remembering your mother's wedding, your dad the young groom."

 

Dolly for her part, hugged the older woman back thoroughly before turning to the man.  
"Mr. Bates, I've tried to hold back and not push in this last week, knowing your grief. But I really DO love your son. And I might as well say yes to him in bad times as good."

Bates nodded, thinking.  
Looking at the two of them another long moment."  
"And now I've got a daughter," he said, smile struggling but finally coming.  
"A strong wife for my good son."

Without hesitating, Dolly hugged him, too, then  
with Clarey adding in, wrapping around.

\---

"A spot of happiness amid the tears," Lord Grantham chortled.  
They were late in getting to bed that night, things still a stir downstairs. 

"I'm glad," Cora answered him.  
"It's been an absolutely dreadful week."

"I wish THAT part were so easily settled," her husband sighed. "But at least this will help."  
"I wish it were, too, darling." Turning the light off and leaning to kiss his weathered cheek.  
"Truly I do."

And they went to sleep, hoping for rest and pleasant dreams that night.


	42. Chapter 42

-  
-  
(Note: Plan B again. Mea culpa. Some of you will hate this.)  
-  
-  
-

 

She was dreaming.

She'd been dreaming of Johnny EVERY night, of course, though certainly not in as odd and realistic a way as this.  
(The green nubby linen of her suit feeling rough as she wiped her damp palms. The wall tile next to her, a hairline crack.)

"You're Violet?" (The gapped-tooth smile of the woman almost offensive in its enthusiasm.)  
"We've been trying to figure out your last name for a while, dear."

The nurse smelled of starch and disinfectant, and Violet felt a wave of nausea roll over her.  
Don't worry, she told herself,  
it's just a dream. 

 

First there'd been Lewis in the motor car.  
("I've got something good to show you," he'd said gently and anxiously.)  
Then the American neurologist with the accent from their south.  
("Eighty percent return to normal life. Fifty percent full recovery.")  
And now this overly friendly, plump woman  
who was smiling far too widely and leading them far too quickly through the wards.

"The other boy's parents came over by boat from Canada. They were here this morning, poor souls."  
And though Violet kept telling herself it was a dream, she followed (hopefully).  
Through the halls and into the room. where,  
looking utterly wretched and utterly wonderful,  
Her  
Johnny was.

\---

"Violet."  
For a second, her feet seemed rooted to the spot as waves of  
happiness and guilt and remaindered grief washed past.

"Love."  
His voice sounded rusty and weak, but it moved her. Moved her in spite of herself those last few stumbling steps forward to catch hold of his hand.  
Warm. His hand was warm and real and alive.

(It wasn't a dream, she FINALLY allowed herself.  
And murmuring his name as she kissed him repeatedly,  
Violet Talbot came undone.)

\---

 

Giving the two a moment of privacy,  
Lewis Jenson walked confidently back to the nursing desk to see if there was any way to get the girl a cup of tea with sugar.  
Even though he'd attempted easing into the situation at hand, he'd shocked her.  
Frankly, Lewis had been shocked himself.

Earlier in the day, he'd come to the infirmary expecting to check on Timothy Burns. 

The first time he'd tried--back at the start of things--they hadn't let him in.  
("Confused and agitated, " the nurses said. Then, "Sedated and needing surgery.")  
And they assured him that the Burns family had been contacted and that Lewis--a nobody--should mind his place.  
So he'd slunk away, knowing that the boy was too bad off to tell him anything about what had happened that night anyway. Knowing he wasn't wanted.

 

Still,  
this morning's message that Violet Talbot was coming up made him reconsider.  
She'd mentioned the boy in passing, after all. And if she was visiting Lewis, mightn't she also want to try to check on Timothy?  
And if the prognosis was still grim, mightn't it be best to spare her that trip?

Johnny....then Violet.  
Not many other people in his life went out of their way to be kind to him, and Lewis wanted to shield her from going to the infirmary if it would be dreadful.  
Surgeries go wrong, after all, and she'd been through quite enough trauma already.

 

Yet,  
how glad he was that this particular visit was going 'right.'  
How nice it was to receive THIS sort of shock.  
Lewis smiled as he walked confidently through the halls.

\---

Meanwhile,

"I've been dreaming of you," Johnny murmured, coughing slightly, trying to focus on her face.  
"They'd prod me awake, but all I wanted to do was stay and dream of you."  
"Well now you can stay awake WITH me," Violet suggested, going to move him into a more comfortable position in spite of her tears.  
Pillows needed plumping. Hair needed smoothing back. A cheek gently kissed again.

 

"The doctor said you've been in and out of it for several days now. He's quite proud of himself, said they're known world wide for their expertise here."  
She said the last a bit disdainfully, not ready to give any man around her trust but Johnny now. 

How could every single MAN have got this so completely fouled?  
"Kept calling me Timothy. Why bother with a man that doesn't know your name?"

 

"Mmm, mix up," she said lightly, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.  
"Unreliable witnesses and something about your coat. Such fools.  
"They lack ANY sense."  
She patted and smoothed his bed clothes with her right hand  
while wiping her eyes with the back of her left.

 

"You aren't ALLOWED to ever do this sort of thing again," she frowned, blinking rapidly.  
Her voice came out wobbly, though she refused to give completely over to emotion again.  
"You aren't allowed, hear? We'll get you well and go home where it's safe. And no more hospitals for either of us, ever."  
Then,  
"Johnny?" she asked.  
"Johnny?" more softly.  
There was no answer, but it didn't matter--  
he lay sleeping within her touch, his lips curved in a smile.

\---

"Tea," Lewis whispered, coming in with two piping cups.  
He sat them down on the bedside table, going back to carry a chair next to her.  
"When they brought him here, police already had him tagged as the Burns boy, and once it goes on an official form no one questioned it.  
And he wasn't lucid enough himself to tell them there'd been a mistake."

 

"You saved him, then," Violet said, reaching him the second cup of tea and taking hers.  
"No, he'd've managed in a day or so. You heard the doctor bragging on their work."

"A day or so, I'd have been back at Downton, not here."  
(Home, she thought, sipping.  
She'd have to ring home and start the whole machinery in motion the other way again.)

 

"Told the nurses you were coming, when I saw what was going on. Told them you were his fiancee and they'd best let us in after hours what with your brother being a lord."  
Lewis actually chuckled.  
"Week end-- or I'd've rung up that office of Johnny's and given THEM a piece of my mind."  
Yes, thought Violet. So will I for taking reports face value.

However, "I should've made them open the casket, not matter what George said."

 

"Protective," Lewis hummed. "I wouldn't've told you that part, either, though it was in the press."  
Lewis drank his tea, considering. (Not Johnny now, though rather grisly. Still, she seemed sturdy enough to hear.)  
"The two that were grappling, well, Goodwin fell back straight into the water.  
"But the other boy...Timothy...went under some sort of barge."

They sat sipping a few moments, listening to the night sounds of the hospital.  
Sat enjoying watching the rise and fall of Johnny's chest.  
(Yet thinking of the other boy's body mangled, a shudder went through them both.)  
Finally Violet sighed.  
Too many fragments of information, too untidily stitched the wrong way.

 

A dream, Violet thought.  
Just a bad dream, though one which would take months and months to right itself.  
And yet how could she even be the least bit dissatisfied when  
Johnny was within her reach.

"You don't know how grateful I am," she said to Lewis, tears once more filming her eyes.  
"Have to prove I'm worthwhile," he replied--  
not nearly so odd looking now that he smiled.

\---

It took another hour to get her feet under her, but finally Violet went to the desk and made the connection.  
And at Downton,   
a telephone rang in the night.

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icViw5AXsf8


	43. Chapter 43

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It was a good thing that Violet Talbot's great uncle was a bishop who'd once procured a special license for her father and mama.  
(Though hopefully Violet's license would be put to more permanent use.)  
And it was a good thing that she was a stubborn young woman who was  
resolved that the marriage would take place IMMEDIATELY, even she wheeled the groom to the altar herself.

The nurses found it romantic. The doctors did not.  
And yet no one found her desire for 'immediate' irrational.  
(One didn't lose and regain from death one's fiancee every day, after all.)  
So, when Violet wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, plans began rapidly falling into place.

And it was all a very good thing,  
even if the families barely made it down in time.

\----

Thomas Barrow, having been awakened from slumber by a hall boy's knock, had staggered back a bit at the word 'telephone.'  
It was once again late into the night, when only evil news came.  
So the boy's immediate reassurance ("Miss Violet said in particular to tell you she's fine and it's something good.") was quite necessary.  
Thomas wasn't as young as he once was, and if Violet was injured right after Johnny, he didn't know what he might have done.

There was no one about but Barrow this time.  
Hallway dark, all but a few of the staff gone home.

 

"Sit down. It's good news, but you must sit down first, Barrow. Truly."  
The imperious voice held laughter, something he'd not heard for over a week by now. (Something not as casually in her voice anyway as , say, in Sybil's.)

"I am," he said, having slid weak kneed into the chair even before the child's orders.  
"Now tell me what's so good you absolutely had to ring us now."  
But as she told him the gist of it, trying to fill in as many details as she could from her discoveries that night....Barrow had to admit she had reason to wake the household.

"Now DON'T steal a car and drive yourself to the Bates cottage. At least have someone else do that task."  
Her light, teasing tone was a novelty Thomas found himself quite willing to indulge for now.

 

Up the stairs then, two at a time though he hit the top winded.  
No Phyllis with him, it was his duty to knock on Lady Mary's door and start the tumult this round.

"Good heavens, Barrow."  
She, too, feared the worst, but listened with a brighter and brighter expression as the news came out.

"I'll drive to tell Anna and Bates while you tell the children."  
Tom Branson popped in from the dressing room, still buttoning, having listened and forgotten himself in the news.  
"They'll be so thrilled by it, that it shouldn't wait until light."

 

Branson gone out the door without a backwards look,  
Lady Mary looked over at Barrow. And Barrow looked back with the slightest smirk.  
"Yes, well," she paused, cheeks pink.  
"We'll tell Lord Grantham first, then the children as the last time. Though, of course, Violet's been told, so it's really just Edward and George.  
"However, it's good enough news to wake everyone. Johnny's obviously proven beyond doubt to be someone of great regard to each and every one of us, upstairs & down."

\---

And in the end  
BOTH families boarded the train up to London, sitting somewhat silently nearby one another, all in first class.  
(After all, they'd soon be near relations, Mary'd somewhat curtly informed her papa.)  
Not too major a step now for Lord Grantham.  
For while he still thought his granddaughter marrying Bates' son RATHER preposterous, it wasn't the most unorthodox thing that had happened during his tenure as lord.  
Not at all.

And having seen his house a vale of tears beforehand,  
Robert Crawley wisely knew better than to in any way worry about minor details now.

\---

"I'm not waiting, and I don't care if I'm dressed in a sack," Violet declared to her granny.  
True, Donk & granny'd been far more approving than she'd dared dream, especially when Johnny now might not finish a law degree.  
(A lot will be determined the next six months, the doctor had counselled.)  
But waiting was not an option anyhow. 

 

"She's fine," Liz said, stepping up to Cora and standing by Violet's side.  
"If it were George injured, I'd be holding a bit tight, too, right now."

And, besides, Liz thought, casting a professional eye on Violet.  
There might be more reason than the youngsters were telling them.  
"We'll call it a Talbot tradition," she smiled. 

\---

"You surely don't want ME," Lewis stressed, about as surprised as a young man could be by  
the girl's reason for visiting.  
Violet nodded, complacently. "It would be you or one of our brothers, and frankly they'll not care a whit if you take the job."  
She pulled on gloves, rising to go.  
"I've got to rope in Gennie next, since I'm not playing family favorites, either. And then I'm going back to the infirmary double quick, before those people lose Johnny again somehow."

 

The flippant tone hid a lingering anxiety, actually. For though Violet had never had a nervous bone in her body, she did have a bit of fear now.  
"But ME?" Lewis tried again, unsure.  
"YOU," she insisted. "Really, Lewis. Stop with this belief I'll let the friendship slide. I don't forget someone who saved my life, now do I?  
"I'm not so light as that."  
And with an abrupt little nod, Violet Talbot marched out, another mission done.

\---

Even with improved financial matters, Barrow knew Lady Mary must be thinking (though never discussing) the expense of an entire floor at the Ritz for an extended time.  
So when plans were first being arranged, he'd asked if she'd like him to contact the Duke of Crowborough's butler, since the duke had offered to help 'any way at all.'  
(And it had been Mary's turn to smirk at Barrow then  
and his turn to flush.)

Yet, it had been a blessing, giving them access to a permanent base of sorts, with a well established and discreet staff, and only the duke himself around.  
(His wife and son both still out of the country, Philip found himself alone.)

 

"I'm not sure of this, duke. You've been very kind and yet..." Mary'd said to him.  
"And yet you still worry about the rumors you've heard about me?" Philip answered.  
"I won't say ALL of them are untrue, since some are. But..."  
He hesitated. "Can't you and I start fresh? If not friends, at least friendly? For instance," he smiled, "Perhaps you could finally call me Philip by now?"

\---

Meanwhile at Downton,  
Thomas, Daisy, and Joe were enjoying a brief respite in the kitchen.  
Barrow, in spite of being very central to the lives of the children, hadn't asked to go along to the south.  
It was unnecessary, really, to "see" the nuptials since they wouldn't be anything much.  
And he'd see the couple themselves as soon as Johnny could travel.  
Soon enough. 

So a peaceful Downton was once again their oasis.

 

"Do you know, Thomas, if Dolly marries Clarey, and Johnny marries Miss Violet, then somehow I'm almost family with the upstairs."  
The idea tickled the cook to an extent the butler had thought impossible.  
"Never imagined when I came through the doors the first time as a drowned kitten,  
something such as that would come about. Really, truly a wonder, it is."

Beside him, Joe chuckled.  
"We live in a fairly wonderful world these days, don't we?" Barrow replied.  
__

It was a beautiful wedding, in spite of everything.  
The chapel was deputized for the location, since--even with the church nearby--Johnny did, indeed, need to 'roll' his way down.  
Violet wore her green linen suit, neatly pressed, with flowers from Philip's hothouse.

No,  
it wasn't anything like what the girl had dreamed of these last months.  
And yet,  
And yet,  
she knew it was the best of all possible weddings,  
and she was the luckiest bride.


	44. Chapter 44

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(Note: TIME JUMP and missing/dead characters, which is either somber or philosophical...so I'm noting it in case you'd like to leave it alone. "Begets" are hopefully explained in text.)  
-  
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Epilogue

 

It was one of those last, beautiful afternoons of autumn as Patrick Barrow stood outside chopping wood for the firepit, grumbling and sweating his way along.  
His mother'd decided a family picnic was in order and turned him out to do the chore double quick. (Everyone was coming at half seven, after all, and it was already five when Sybil'd had the call.)  
Out back of the barn, Patty'd almost immediately thrown off his shirt and stood working with only a tattered pair of jeans low on his hips--over six feet of honed muscle and sinew, covered in hair.

For unfortunately (according to his father) or gloriously (according to his girlfriend, Jeanie Bates), the young man had grown his thick black hair well past his shoulders.  
Clean, of course, neatly trimmed--but really quite long.  
Add the beard which almost covered his sharp cheekbones, and all that looked Barrow about him were his grey eyes--and, perhaps, his milk pale skin, now gone a bit freckled with sun. 

 

"Patty?"  
MaryMargaret's Cora came near, grinning up, holding a glass.  
"Granny says you're to hawry up and come."  
"Thanks, bug," he smiled back, taking the drink and guzzling it down, then pulling his shirt over his head.  
"Who's already here?"  
"No one, but mum said you absoloobly have to wash, so granny sent me out."

His niece took his hand and swung from it, sticking out her tongue before adding, "Mum made me, too."  
He laughed, looking fondly down.  
Indeed, her hair was still wet from it, hanging in a sleek black sheet down her back, full as Patrick's and longer too--though, as his dad frequently reminded him--that was different for a girl.

 

Still, for all his height and hair and angst, Patty was a mum's boy. So if Sybil said to wash, he would.  
(Whilst she, in turn, would ignore all of his other choices as long as he was clean....and fully dressed.)  
And, truly, he needed to be dressed a bit better tonight anyway, even Patty'd agree to that.  
For in spite of the casual atmosphere--a silly little garden party--  
it was the extended family's celebration of Charles and Letty's engagement, just done today. 

Yes, there'd be a party for them next month at the Napier's, but for now this was the One.

 

And besides, Patrick loved his cousin Let. After all, she and Trey were just a bit younger than he was, raised almost like his sibs when they were all small.  
So even though it seemed foolish to the boy--that a piece of paper could ever truly determine commitment or love--he'd put a good face on things. After all, Charles had to live by the old ways, being an heir to a viscount and all.  
As to him, though, Patrick Barrow had too many things to do in life before settling down,  
if he ever did.  
Or at least that's how he felt on a perfectly golden afternoon in 1969.

\---

Meanwhile,  
Jeanie and Joanie Bates were getting ready at their family's cottage.  
In spite of the similar names Dolly'd given them, the girls weren't twins like Johnny's two.  
Instead, they were a year apart, with Joanie the younger.

"Eons since I wore a dress," Jeanie laughed, wriggling a rather slippery little mini over.  
"But I guess we must or embarrass Uncle John and Aunt Vi."

 

"Aunt Violet will be scandalized enough by THAT," Joanie said, zipping up a more modest cotton sheath.  
Her sister, though, happily twirled once in front of the mirror and, deciding she'd safely walk the line of indecency, turned and pulled a comb through her straight smooth hair.  
"Don't be a pill, Joan. It'll be fine."

\---

At the big house, dressing for "dinner" done,  
George & Liz joined his mother and Evelyn & Sylvia for drinks.  
The Napiers had stayed at the Abbey for the week, Mary having invited them based on her "old friendship" with Lord Branksome himself.  
Actually, though, she'd seen the romance blossoming between Charles & Let and wished to promote it.  
(Had, indeed, successfully promoted it, as today's announcement had proven out.)

 

Two decades before, Mary'd approved of her Violet's choice of John Bates, since the two seemed romantically unavoidable. (And John had proven himself a wonderful, courageous boy who'd made something of life.)  
Still, Mary had no issue at all with Violet's daughter marrying back 'up' now that her time had come.  
There was romance, then there was romance with money. And as long as there was love in a marriage, Mary wouldn't argue AGAINST having capital. (How lacking in sense it would be to do that!)  
(Besides, she'd once considered being Viscountess Branksome at one time, herself.)

 

"Ah, Matthew."  
George's boy looked so like his grandfather it made her turn sentimental sometimes.  
"Come to spend extra time with the older generation, darling boy?"  
He smiled back at her--clean cut, Rupert Brooke features clear and calm.  
"Why, granny, I like the old folks best of all."

"We have the best whiskey," George said, frowning at his nineteen year old.  
"Not for that," George countered smoothly, "Most times it's that you have the best stories about where you've been in life."  
"A long life," Evelyn Napier said, raising his glass.  
"A good one," his younger wife nodded, clinking her glass to his.  
"Mmm," Mary nodded.

 

It HAD been a good one, though Mary was still rather unhappy. Tom had only been gone a year now, and she continued to feel unwhole.  
Odd how sadness came and went, coming back full force when you least expected,  
then sometimes letting you go.  
(Of course, she & Tom'd never married, in case it would be a mark against the children by people who might not approve of such a match.  
She wasn't considered a widow, had to privately mourn.)

"I'm so glad our Charles and your Letty have decided to marry," Evelyn said, catching her expression and trying to bring Mary round.  
"She's a lovely girl," Sylvia Napier echoed. "So glad they've made the match."

\---

"I don't know why mum thought a picnic was an appropriate idea," MaryMargaret grumbled, moving things around in the refrigerator, seeing if she could lodge one more thing in.  
(Giving up, finding it chockablock.)

"Mum's always has Christmas. She prolly just figures everyone's comfortable to come."  
Kathleen, her younger sister by six years was putting large bags of 'convenience' ice into a clean tin laundry tub, on which she'd then stack the bottles of drink (and anything else needing a temporary chill.)  
"We aren't leaving out Uncle Thomas and Uncle Joe, not matter how high and mighty the others are."

 

"Now, hush. Letty and Trey wouldn't either. Nor Matt, and he's the one to the manor born."  
"No, Matty and Trey won't, but with marriage Letty might. The Napiers might."  
It was Trey's biggest worry, really, about his sister's fondness for Charles.  
That if Let moved to Thorncroft, she'd be gone.

"It'll all be right," MaryMargaret hugged her as she moved around the kitchen. "If we don't poison the lot of them tonight, that is. But as for the rest of it, don't worry, love. It'll all be right."

 

=  
=  
And it was all right. Quite all right.  
=  
=

 

As the night music played on, they sat there in the twilight,  
two ancient men side by side.  
So many people they'd known were gone now--intelligent, brave, kind--none of that mattered in the end, except as a legacy reflected in their children.  
Children (and grandchildren, and great grandchildren) who wandered past where they sat now  
under the string of lights in Longfield's yard,  
transistor playing from a window ledge nearby.

 

Quietly, the old men listened and watched.  
"It's no wonder Jeanie and Joanie are so quiet. Like as not they don't get a word in at home."  
Thomas used his chin to point to where Clarey Bates and Dolly were holding forth to Edward and Misha, Gennie coming to join.  
Barrow's voice was a bit reedier, but his interest in 'keeping an eye out' still keen.

"Do you think George'll give over when he finds out about Joanie and Matt?"  
Joe's chuckle rumbled out like chocolate, rich and dark. "He's still a bit of a fussbudget, your oldest one."

 

"Mine, phht." Thomas shook his head, taking a slow sip of some sort of pinapple-y pop young Cora'd handed him went he'd first gone and sat.  
(Used to be such a treat getting a pop at the fair; now here they were having it on an ordinary Wednesday night.)  
However, Thomas knew Georgie still WAS 'his' boy in spite of what he'd worried when he'd stopped being butler at the Abbey.  
("You'll see. He'll be stopping by more frequently than you'd expect," Lady Mary'd said. Understanding. And just as she had with Carson, so had George.)

"I think he'll be fine," Thomas said finally.  
"I think they all will."

 

"Now if they could only learn what's decent music," Jimmy Kent cut in,  
coming up and hearing the last bit, then settling himself beside the two. "Damned Beatles. Everyone talking like they grew up near the docks."  
"What a fucking codger you are," Joe prodded, stretching his legs out and leaning back a bit.  
"Not as old a bugger as you," Jimmy grinned, reaching into his pocket to get a snout.

And letting their casual bickering washing comfortably over him, looking down at his friends and his family,  
Thomas Barrow knew,  
it WOULD be fine.

 

Just as he told stories about Margaret to her grandchildren--  
just as he reminded Sybbie of her mother (Lady Mary's brood, their fathers, too),  
Someone would one day tell stories of him.  
(He'd overheard a few already this evening and was glad.)

A child-less man, yet with the legacy of so many children's love.  
Sometime (hopefully NOT immediately, mind) when he died,  
HE'd be remembered too, talked about over and over in stories passed down through the family.

 

Defeating death through those memories.  
Yes, in the end, it all would be fine.  
Death had to give way to love, Thomas believed.

It would be all right.


End file.
